porcelain parade.

their eyes are painted on,
but their colors melting away
as their ruby red lips,
ready to kiss
are wearing thinner & thinner,
with each tick of the clock
with each beat of their heart,
which never changes pace.
while the line of porcelain
marches on,
their glass faces
beginning to crack,
their smiles chipping off
at the corners,
their hearts snapping
from all the pressure
of being glass.
of needing to watch
every step
every move
to make sure they
won't break.
when really, they are broken
already.
glued together at the cracks
from years of being used
and from months of being stepped on
as they lay in the closet
behind all the secrets
that need not be mentioned
not mentioned at all
cause what would he think
if he knew what you'd done?
what would he say
if he knew who you've loved?
this porcelain parade
is clearly a protest.
all these fragile dolls
are breaking out.