Most little girls have at least one,
But not me.
Most girls pushed them in buggies,
I refuse to do so.
The plastic faces, as innocent as
The child who carries them.
I don't see the innocence.
I witness the nightmare hidden
Within the lifeless eyes.
The eyes that follow me wherever I hide,
Waiting for my guard to fall down.
The hollow feet not made for walking,
I can see them ready to run.
The tiny hands not meant for anything,
I know they're waiting,
Waiting for my shield to be down.
Waiting to reach, with a lifeless hand,
For the knife.