You grab my wrists.
You demand that
we play house.
(Your eyes are
menacing
and cold).
I succumb to your wishes,
bending and twisting
the way you want me to.

You, the puppet master,
and I, the porcelain doll,
can never live in harmony.

I loved you, once.

You kept asking
what was
the most wonderful thing of
all?
I slammed the door
even before you
got up to look
for me. I left you on
a cold, rainy Monday.

I sit alone at
a new kitchen table,
surrounded by the
forbidden macaroons.

I was only trying to help.