Watcher in me

I write poems — Re-read them

Internalize the Realization

That I speak of me as Dead.

 

I worked a long hard life to build Me

Into some Barbie Doll Mother Theresa

mixed canvass image of what I thought

was the right thing to grow up to Be.

 

The doll murdered

with malicious cruel stabs of a knife

this utter evisceration and defacement bleeding

into this horror that only belongs to the Heart

of an angry hurt Child in Raging Tantrum.

 

Built her — an elegant Malibu House

Tomb

with the perfect beautiful Ken Doll

to wield the blade, light the flame.

 

And the Watcher in me took in the show

from a plush velvet chair high up in the balcony —

clapping, coercing, applauding, tsk-tsk-tsking

as the Show played to a packed house

and garnered bittersweet reviews from the Critics.

 

 

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