i am not a Russian doll
i am not here for you to reach for off of the shelf
just so you can decide which layer you want to rip apart of me today
my mind is not your enjoyment
my body is not a toy that you can pick up and when you’re bored of it, discard

i don’t exist only when you want me
i am not here for you to examine and decide if i am good enough
you can’t open me up and leave my pieces scattered in your soul
only to be suffocated by the blackness deep within you

i am not the new beautiful wooden Russian doll that can withstand anything and without needing to be glued back together
i am the glass Russian doll that has cracks from where the children broke me
they weren’t being careful and my head was shattered
but the outside layer stays intact, it was a shell for the smallest doll deep inside me that was broken

i like to keep it that way though
you can only see my glue cracks when you take the time to sit with me and patiently open up all layers, along with taking the time to mend me back together before gently placing me back on the shelf