Paper Dolls

Criss-cross, criss cross –
the scissor-blades go zig-zag.

Heads and joined arms,
joined toes and hem of skirts –
the paper unravels into
two-dimensional dolls
in multiples of ten.

I toss one more of it to the trash bin
spilling out hundreds of this obsession.

They were my army,
with no eyes, ears or mouth,
or even a nostril, let alone a nose.
And they knew nothing about
living or surviving,
let alone fighting.

I do not take offense
on their behalf,
upon their inanimity –
we are just one of them, you and me.

¥°¥°¥

In love,
our hearts flutter
like paper dolls decorating
our childhood room.

In pain,
we crumple crisply,
the papery rustle filling
our emptiness.

Their wholeness is only
a part of us.

¥°¥°¥

I separate the held hands,
unhook their toes,
singling them,
breaking the chain of monotony
and consistency.

Disorder is innate,
a few paper dolls shall not
rewrite it.

– April 21st, 2016
© Sana Rose 2016

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