She’d, whispered, so many secrets into her dolls’ ears, knowing, that they won’t, tell on her, and, over the years, as her abuse exacerbated from touches to penetration, she’d become, more and more violent toward her childhood “best friends”.
The dolls became the keepers of her secrets, they’d, opened up all their eyes real wide, as she’d told them what had happened to her tiny body and young mind, and, the dolls, they just all looked at her like, “So???”, which made her mad, and that, was when she’d, picked each and every one of them up, and SLAMMED them down, one by one!
holding the secrets intact! Not my photograph…
The dolls became the keeper of her secrets, and, she’d, told different secrets to different dolls, some held the accords of her sexual abuse by her grandmother, while others carried the secrets of how she’d heard her parents arguing in the nights when they thought she was fast asleep and couldn’t hear them getting loud…
She’d kept, all the dolls she’d poured her secrets into close by, never letting them go, fearing, that if she’d let go of just one, then, the secrets that one doll had carried, will bust loose, and hell will take over!
The dolls kept her secrets, until they either cracked and died, or, become too broken, and got discarded, into the cemeteries where all broken dolls are buried, six feet under, that way, none of them will ever, CLAW their ways back out, and squeal.
not my photograph…
The dolls kept her secrets to this very day, and, nobody ever knew this darker part of her younger years, save for her, and the countless dolls she’d ever had growing up! And, she’d still, kept a few, because she always had more secrets she carried…
Life, the Obstacle Course 