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Like a Poorly Sewn Ragdoll
I fell apart like a poorly sewn ragdoll
Thrown haphazardly into a washing machine
And though my body remains intact
My soul is strewn about all over the house
I prefer visible wounds for your words
Are worse than a bomb that imbeds shrapnel
And you demand that I stop weeping, stop feeling
Like you are my father and I'm a child
But I'm not a child, and I won't obey you
And I'm not really a doll
Though sometimes I know
That you wish I were one
