Here comes the day.
The day when the ivory colored skin, becomes porcelain.
The day where the fragile looking body, becomes glass.
The day when the resistant mind, becomes open.
The day when the perfect person, becomes the perfect doll.
What a doll they would be, if they could be.
An impossibility, which is the only thing society will accept.
An expectation to be a mold of a doll, when one can never truly be, something as perfect as a designed being.
This poem is in my Bleach story on FanFiction, it's called Mad Father (from pen name, My Elegant Disaster) and it's based off of the online game Mad Father. Please read and review!