At one point,
I outgrew my dolls.
They were supposed to live
the lives children imagined they loved.
.
Suddenly, my Barbies moved on their own,
These dolls weren't mine.
And I hated their soulless eyes,
that stared back like they hated mine.
Something used them as a disguise.
.
My pink room was no longer sweet and warm.
It became dark and cold,
A place where comfort could no longer hold.
.
We wondered if it was the little girl,
The one who pushed them off the bed.
The little girl who wanted my head.
.
I close my gray bin
and held them in place,
These dolls would never see the light of day.