Neither the color nor the resin,
but the girl.
The girl with small legs that no longer run;
With arms that do not hug,
With a smile that does not come home,
eats soup and talks about her day.
The girl, that now emerges as other girls;
and she is, time and time again, taken.
Other legs, arms, smiles; gone.
And they all stay, cold, distant.
Forever trapped in a tarry reality;
Sharing the same sad name.