poem post numero uno
Raggedy Ann
the orphan doll
walks around like a tattered raggedy ann
beggar, ashamed and ashy, sleeping
under bridges or inside
dumpsters, abandoned by no one but
herself
diluted blood and pale faced
ghostly haggard, skin
falling off
her bones and skeletal thin,
stomach screaming
feed me- not that-
something real
but raggedy ann has become
a pincushion, tossed
and frayed into little
pieces strung
out, the stitches needing
mending, the smile fading,
almost gone.