To liberate a toy

by Isabel Pieterson, UWCM
16th of December, 2022

our birth – no more than a mere quotidian event

how we’re born: forced to wear a contrived smile on our faces,

stitched together. made to be gentle. words turned to cotton:

dismissed, neglected, imperceptible. blood interrupted.

we’re emotionally inarticulate; tossed into a pile, ridiculed for being ordinary.

as we pose for incomers, faces strained from beaming, we’re greeted by wry looks;

our reaction kept impassive – that’s what we’re taught to do.

as always, you demand more;

perpetual desires: so fickle but we’re peasants for acceptance. that’s how we survive.

sewn to our womb: voices brittle in a gnawed enclosure

sat sluggish, brawling for your embrace

if only we had a paltry chance to escape.

Breathe. this conversation ain’t over.

forced to lament for our sanity, our muffled cries futile;

legs limp from your absence, spines biliously arched

our plastic corpses interrogated, names lying placid in a machine.

yet again: a redundant cycle of our deposition.

finding our remnants will be no difficult task

for those gulls have sucked out our ingot, mouths repulsively brimming with gilt

eyes fetched on the profit;

not a wince of goodwill, just a grimace of desire

and here we are sat slumped,

loosely chained to the murmurs of the volatile,

our misery

sculpted by those companies.