Plastic Doll Poem by Ama Smith

My Depression is like a plastic doll.
So beautiful, and carefully set.
So safe, and comforting to hold, that I carry it daily.
Beautiful, polished outside, with bright eyes,
and stiff, fixed smile.
Fixed to my face, with peeling paint, and bloodied stitches,
Each smile cracking the paint just a little bit more,
Each smile pulling the stitches wide, and opening another wound.
Bright, wide eyes, staring purposefully in the distance,
at nothing at all.
No more bright futures, no child make believe dreams ahead.
Just the dark closet where I store all emotions.
Dark and empty,
Like when they left the inside of my body empty.
No beating heart to mend when broken, or flutter over new love,
No lungs to breath in the smell of the roses on the side of the road,
No lungs to snatch in enough breath to 'talk about it, '
... Or scream.
How, you ask, could this beautiful, plastic doll be depressed?
Please, Please don't ask why, don't ask how.
Because like her heart, and like her lungs,
her mind is gone away too.
Don't ask her how, or why, when she doesn't know how or why,
And when she tries to answer, she can't breath, she can't speak,
and the stitches on the perfect, painted smile snap,
her beautiful mask falls away...
No one can look her in the face after that.