Mary-Lou, you’re sitting there
Upon my white creaky chair
And all the riddles, dresses and books
Mary-Lou, you don’t glimpse a look

I was 5 years old and all I wanted was a friend
And I keep on asking—again and again,
“Why are you not speaking?” I’m losing hope
But Momma always said to never give up.
I’ve been lied to and picked on by these monsters above
And right now, the only sign of encouragement I seek is love.
I remember the moment Momma walked in
Huffing and puffing struggling to get a word in
“I got you this doll, I hope it’ll do.
And look at it closely, she looks just like you!”

I looked at the doll in awe attempting to see
Anything I could point out that resembled me.
Was it the rosy cheeks as red as blood
That trickled down my knee when pushed in the mud?
Or was it the pin straight hair that was brittle and tangled
Just like my heart as it tore apart and mangled?
Was it the red dress that shined in the light?
Glistened and stood out in black and white
The hazel eyes that were owned to the beast
That knocked me down and threw me on my feet.
The hazel eyes that kicked me while I was down
Standing like a villain in this small town
The hazel—I didn’t want this doll, why would I?
I threw it and kicked it, trying my hardest not to cry.
All of my anger soared on this savage
My heart is finding itself breaking, despite the old damage.

I sit there quietly staring at this doll
Who has done nothing but sit there and watch me bawl.
It does no harm, or laugh, or peep
Just sits there with the same crooked, sewed-on smile looking at me.
The big hazel eyes that luster and glare
And a modest hole patched up under the line of yarn hair
The scars that have been mended
And the marker scribbles that seemed to have been blended

I see myself

I take grasp of this doll and look at it with fame
I say to her, “I should give you a name!”
Who does she look like? Which name will do?
“Here’s an idea! I’ll name you Mary-Lou.”

You see, Mary-Lou has not said a word since she came home 10 years ago
But she’s seen me from the little girl I was and will continue as I grow.
The tears and the rips do not define Mary-Lou.
The tears and the rips do not define you.