Poem: broken doll

By: Linda M. Crate


sun drenched hair
ocean washed heart
soul of flower crowns
she shoulders
memories no one else can bear,
and sometimes when she
the walls tremble with her
as she falls
vertigo rising
everything sounds like rejection
even a smile;
dickinson said fame was fickle
so is silence
sometimes welcoming and other times
beckoning you only to the noise
of your own inner thoughts—
her heart was always
focused on him,
but he used her love as an arrow
forced it back inside her
caused the words she loved to impale
her into a silence so famous
that she could not
stand to do anything but break.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s