A/N: This was my first ever poem. A few friends and I had decided to do a prompt poem, and "Memory" was the prompt that I was given. I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to favorite and review to let me know what you think.


There it sits,
That lonely doll.
Upon the shelf,
Where it belongs.

There she lays,
Beneath the ground,
As the tears
Pour down their faces.

All gathered around
Her open grave,
Mourning for what could have been
Stopped.

But you didn't care,
And neither did those
Who assisted in the torture.

There it sits,
That lonely doll,
Resembling everything she was.

From the crazy red locks
To the battered old shoes.
From the patched-up dress
To the fake, painted-on-smile.

She took the torment,
Refused to get help.
Until it became
Too late.

Now there she lays,
Dead and in the ground.
With family and friends weeping,
Overcome with grief.

And there you stand,
A member of the mass.
Tears roll down your face
As you realize what your words have done.

She wasn't ugly.
She wasn't poor.
She wasn't unloved.
She wasn't stupid.

She was just-right.
As close to perfect as one can be.
Perfect in the eyes of her loved ones.

There it sits,
That lonely doll.
Upon the shelf,
Where it belongs.

In memory of her.