Porcelain Doll - Poem by EMMA Funnell
This young girl came to this world,
And was to be taken under her young mother's wing.
She was a porcelain doll so small and fragile,
Love and joy to their hearts she would bring.
Sweet dreams she would always have,
Of fairies, angels and such.
Everyone would smile as they gazed in her crystal eyes,
And sigh with the feel of her touch.
She would make laughter wherever she went,
And tears of joy when she danced on stage.
Thinking she was loved and cared for,
Not knowing she was filling her mum with rage.
At the age of eleven when her family ended,
She first felt the coldness of her mother's fist.
She did not understand and she still doesn't now,
Since then she's been caught in the mist.
Never known which way to turn,
She would crawl into a ball on the floor.
Wondering why she felt this way at the age of fourteen,
And would pray to God for the abuse no more.
Sweet dreams drifted away,
As darkness and terror entered her soul.
Her eyes darkened and so did her words,
She was no longer that porcelain doll.
Her life from then on was full of abuse,
As she took the role for her brothers as their mum.
Carried on praying for someone to save her,
But stopped when she realized no one would come.
when her friends would ask her to come out and play,
She would say, 'I gotta do the kids some grub! '.
Confused they would ask, 'Isn't that your mother's job? ',
'No', she'd reply, 'Her job is to drink at the pub! '.
That poor little girl is now eighteen,
A lot has happened to her life.
She lost a lot of friends because of her mother,
And almost ended it all with the sharpness of the knife.
Her mother done something terrible to her one night,
That opened the girl's eyes and made her see.
That she did not need to put up with this any more,
She could finally be free.
Two of her friends took her in and gave her life once more,
From her mother's evil gaze she is now free.
I hope you have read and understood this poem,
As that porcelain doll was me!
Comments about Porcelain Doll by EMMA Funnell
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You