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.
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January 2022
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