2

I am fresh, for her attention I yearn

A mother that’s sharp

My heart starts to feel the burn

Of outstretched hands, cold and untouched

Nurture washed out by drugs, affection that’s rushed

I get small tastes of kindness

A smile, a kiss

Though I do not know her love

It’s still something I miss

5

And alone

The picture I draw is called ‘home’

She won’t put it on the fridge

So in the bin it ...

A box in an attic, sat all alone

Calling the dust bunnies that surrounded it home.

It waited in patience, sitting humbly

And suddenly children ran up in glee

They clambered up the staircase, tripping as they would,

Till they reached a corner of the attic where the little box stood.

Sparkles and glitter glistened quite bright

And the children’s eyes, widened at the sight.

For they were amazed...

..and just like that she could see everything through fresh eyes. Crystal blue eyes. The ones you stare into as though mesmerised. You see beauty, or you see deception. My crystal eyes never blink. Never move. Neither does the rest of me. I gather dust on a shelf, scaring the life out children, my limbs growing stiff. They say I’m scary. The children. The adults say I’m just a doll. That I won’t h...