So I had this assignment in class to make a dramatic monologue. Everyone else in the class had something modern, and here I am with my weird little poem about a doll (from the Victorian era I'd imagined). Hm, here it is.

The Glass Eyes

I’ve been posing here for years
And, though, I never grow old,
My porcelain skin turns sere
From the image it must hold.
They dress me. They comb my hair
Until it gleams in the dark,
Where my glass eyes, forced to stare,
Behold, no, covet the lark
Sitting outside my window,
Singing, donning its deep pulse.
I rot in my precious bow
And frills that have made me false.
I loathe the time spent on me,
Or, in truth, spent on my face.
They tease. They could never see
How I wish to take their place.
I dream of walking along
The garden with the lark
Who moved me with his song,
And gave me hope. Yes, Hark!
There it is again: Freedom,
A tune chiseled on my heart.
When I am no longer numb,
I will also do my part.
With cheeks as pink as a rose
And soft lips opening wide,
I, too, will give hope to those,
Who’re forever trapped inside.