This is a poem I wrote a little over a year ago.
When I was young
my grandma made paper dolls
Magazine pictures glued to cardboard
Babies, big girls, big and small
Some had straight brown hair
and some had pretty blond curls
We’d stand them up against the fireplace
and sit and play and talk with the girls
Now, sometimes I feel
like those paper dolls
flattened and silent
propped up by walls
In the wind
I whip like a feather
searching for cardboard
to hold me together