Dollhouse

I lost myself in a dollhouse.
It was picture-perfect;
a mirror image of my house,
if I was Alice in the Looking Glass.

But
I wanted a treehouse, that
looked over both my world
and The World. So I could
dream about Some Place Else.

And
I wanted a treehouse, so that
I could laugh freely and 
dream under the stars, far 
from this House Behind Bars.

But I was given a dollhouse.
It was a forgotten dream;
my mother's hopeful future,
of Nothing Is What It Seems.

I sit beneath my dollhouse
and look up at this perfect little unit
of plastic perfection and painted smiles
and I forced the little girl to quit.

So
I yanked her from her doting parents
and placed her on the roof,
where she could see a better future,
though all I see is my room.