Broken Doll

A poem about my physical and mental abuse.

Broken Doll
Michelle Proby

My life was so delicate
a single, well-thrown stone broke it,
now my life is desecrated
parts scattered around, some missing,
my life now a broken doll
and now the strings of evil control it.

My life was an antique
an old, heartless thief stole it,
now I face the mirror
my limp limbs and frail skin,
reflecting in the light
my impurities uncovered,
Now they control me.
I’m a broken doll
a muse,
a toy to use,
break,
blame.