The Rag Doll
Before I was a doll, I was several dozen rags,
before I was the rags, I was made of hand-me-downs,
I was shirts that were too small, and skirts that had a stain,
pants that had a tear, overalls covered in paint.
Before I was these things, I was bought and sold in stores,
displayed in shiny packages and hung to be admired,
before this, I was fabric, pristine and pressed and new,
and before all this a bushy ball of cotton in a field,
a plant grown from the dirt that I now sit upon and rot,
as a rag doll with one eye, a crooked smile and dirty hair.
I was loved and I was useful in all of my forms but now,
all that I can do is hope I will return into the dust
that gave birth to me, so that I can begin my life anew.
All That (G)litters is Gold
I rust in wait; one second chance
My hope: to be reused
Surrounded by the stench
Of sullied remnants and refuse
I bide my time; a tragedy
In weather’s elements
Rain decays my destiny
Garbage (g)litters my garments
Look beneath the surface
I’m a treasure hunter’s dream!
Stitch me up, chalk paint, and wax
So shabby chic, I’ll gleam
She sleeps, her eyes twitching with nervous energy, a dormant energy surging below a skim of dust, her cape heavy with the desert’s dust. A breeze could wake her, or the slap of a rat-tailed rag, anything to knock that dust loose, and so warm her bones. Her heart-beat slows beneath the distant sun, her Spirit already dead in the dark of the moon, her mind one-hundred-million miles away and tangled up in blue, the wealth and intelligence of an alien nation-state left to litter this pristinely pink world.
It is a perfect desert, red and swept. It is lifeless, hopeless, barren, and stepped. The sun drowns down, warming her thin skin, reflecting tin skin, she a tiny bright spot scratching it’s tedious surface, a tiny scrap of metal rescued from the rubble of 9-11 to be tossed away, thrown into space, to be blasted, beaten... to be etched into the sands of this infertile martianscape.
She waits amid sand and storm, alone. Alone, but standing tall yet, head high, antenaes bristling, signals received, stored, but unrequitted in her weary despair. She has done what was asked, she has completed her tasks, she has climbed the Cape of Tribulation and shouted his name, but still he will not come. He will never come. She is left here alone to remember his touch, her footprints filling with dust behind her.
“My batteries are low,” Opportunity whispers, “and it is getting dark.”
Toss me out,
Throw me away,
Don’t you dare care—
Under your shoe,
Crush my soul—
Hate that I’m there,
Hate that I dare
Dirty your world—
Wish you wouldn’t,
Wish you couldn’t
Acknowledge my existence—
Toss me out,
Throw me away,
Don’t you dare care,
Though I’ll always care—
I loved to go on picnics,
the beach or to the park.
I had so much fun with you,
cooking s’mores in the dark.
I was there for all the fun times,
when family came around.
More often than not though,
you’d leave me lying on the ground.
Late at night when it was cold,
I’d feel a tiny prick.
I’d look up and in my horror,
a man holding a stick.
He’d pick me up against my will,
then place me in a bag.
The smell was just so awful,
it made me want to gag.
I could feel the movement,
as the man made his round.
Afterwards I felt myself being flung,
on top of a large mound.
I could hear a ‘whooshing’ sound,
something was burning.
That was when I knew with acceptance,
that I wouldn’t be returning...
#poem, #poetry, #paperplate, #xjenvanx, #challenge, #garbage
This morning I was her major support
we sat together
we took pictures together
I even let that little mutt up here too
you know I suffered a lot of abuse from that
asshole figuratively and literally!
Now I’m in the back of someones U-haul
she got rid of me like I was a piece of trash!
I was hauled out by two dudes and a
the new lady who looks like
she will find a permanent home in a
the morgue in two weeks
she’d talk about the neighbor for doing it
all those sleepless nights we had together
Tossing and turning Who was there me!
not to mention all the genitals I was faced with
but I never judged you
you know I kept it cool
I paid your way to school most times
I hid your stash for you too
hell I even fed you and that no good
the boyfriend that convinced you
you didn’t need me!
Yea see how long he sticks around
oh yea he’s cheating on you too!
Bet you wish you kept me now cause
that dick won’t comfort you
the way I did!
The Old Parchment
I don’t like it here all alone in the dark. It’s cold and smelly – I miss the warmth of hands wrapped around me and the scent of baby lotion. To think that once I was treasured, that daily life without me caused tears to fall from precious eyes.
I remember once when she thought I was lost and the only thing on her mind was to find me. She hurled all the others out of her way, wailing the whole time for me. Finally, she caught a glimpse of me and her face lit up as brightly as the sun on a clear day at the beach. Her world was right again and so was mine. I knew my life would be perfect as long as she was around.
However, things change, people move on, and soon, some of us are forgotten. The care I once received began to diminish and my days got dim. Dust began to build around me and the only scent I was able to take in was of the furniture polish used by a lady to dust the shelf where I sat. The face that used to look at me so lovingly changed and I didn’t see that passion in her eyes anymore….not in my direction nor towards the others. It was as though I had become the enemy.
One day, a new face came into view. This one had lots of fire in his eyes and his hands never stopped. He would grab one of us from the shelf and fling us across the room like Frisbees where we would fall with a thud to the floor and hoped the abuse stopped there. Sometimes it did; sometimes it didn’t.
Then, one day, he sealed my fate and I landed me here. I ended up on the ground, chosen by those hands. He pulled open my cover and began pulling out my pages. I became weak as pieces of me began being further shredded and tossed into the air like confetti. He was laughing the entire time as if it were acceptable to defile me in that manner; I was defenseless against the torture. The lady who dusted the shelves came into the room, shouted at him and picked me up off the floor. I hoped she was taking me to try and mend me back into myself again; however, that hope ended with loud clunk as I was dropped into the trash bin and began to suffocate against the plastic bag walls surrounding me.
Therefore, here I am in my final resting place, among all the others that have suffered similar fates. I know that books like myself are becoming obsolete in this new digital, technologically advanced world. However, I can hope that at least one person cherishes the written word on paper instead of on a screen. I can also hope that children are taught to respect the written word and value books for the knowledge and joy they can bring because within a book, you can create your own world.
When Will It End?
I feel all warm and tingly inside. Joy flushes into every single piece of me. This is it, this is what I was made to do. I think proudly to myself. Oh how the purpose of my life has been completed. How I can just sit here and enjoy the warmth filled inside of me.
Abruptly I feel flesh and bone start to engulf around me. I start to get crushed down and parts of me blow away into the depths of the restaurant. I soon feel all of my happiness drain out of me. I try to scream but my face is pinned down and I can’t even mutter one word. I start to think about all the legends of the so called ‘humans’ that my family has been telling me for my entire life. I never thought they would be true, so I spent my time joking about humans with my peers. But now with these hands clutching my body, I realize my mistake of not believing the rumors before.
So now I sit on a leather ‘seat’ in a what I think is a ‘car’ with despair showering me from above. I miss my family, I miss my friends, I miss my closet, I miss my shelf. Lost in the jumble of my thoughts, I don't realize that I’m being moving yet again and before I know it I’m placed on a wooden table. The smell of cigars and aftershave attack my nose. I look around. There has to be a way out of here, there always is. I startle at the sound of footsteps and see a large man walking straight towards me. I start to shudder with fear when I glimpse into his soul wrenching eyes.
Suddenly my face is torn apart. I howl in agony as the man starts to reach into my body and pull out my insides. I watch in horror as he stuffs my intestines into his mouth.
“Damn, this burger really is good.” the human says with his mouth full.
After that I black out. All I remember is being thrown into a ‘trash can’ which stunk of rotten food. My thoughts are lost in complete darkness and I am limp and tired.
From now on I don't feel a thing. Any hope of going home is lost in my dead body. So I sit and wait, and sit and wait for my time as a piece of garbage to end. And if that means floating in the vast ocean blue, so be it, because eventually I will die.
A lending ear is all i ask
So much promise. So much purpose. A room full of smart individuals and hours of design work went into my making. Then sent off to an assembly line alongside my brothers and sister. I was filled with nourishment. Maybe not the healthiest, but happy nourishment nonetheless. All of this would qualify as great promise and purpose, would it not?
For now I am no so sure. Squashed, trampled on, and toss aside like I’m nothing important. I wasn’t even tossed away properly either. I skirt the sidewalk with the help of my new friend, wind. Shouting that I can be recycled and given a new purpose goes unheard. No one deems me worthy to listen to.
From what I’ve heard from my cousins, we will be imprisoned on top of one another. Forgotten and a burden to the earth we blanket. Oh why isn’t anyone listening to me? The optimism I once held is growing thin. I was made by people like you. You’ve consumed my secrets, so why would I lie to you?
#trashstory #shortstory #fiction #toriesenseny