Poem: broken doll

By: Linda M. Crate

broken_doll

sun drenched hair
ocean washed heart
soul of flower crowns
she shoulders
memories no one else can bear,
and sometimes when she
cries
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.

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