The Mannequin

The mannequin stands tall
She�s the envy of all

She, with her petite waist
And her lovely face unfazed

By all the attention
The eyes that scour her with question

Is she aware of the jealousy
When she fits the snug clothes easily?

Does she see the wishful gaze
On every woman�s envious face?

The mannequin
The beauty queen

She is now on the ground
At the bottom of a great mound

Of lifeless life-size dolls
They crush her as she lies in pieces

On the rocky earth she has for a bed
Lamenting the day she was made

What has her beauty gotten her
Apart from the future she now fears?

Her days of glory now gone,
She breaks out into a tuneless song

�I am perfect,
I am exact.

I am the epitome of godly beauty,
No one rivals my symmetry.

My lovely locks,
My pretty frocks

They now lie beside me on the black tar
So close yet so far.

Where are the women who once admired me?
And the little girls whose only dreams were to look like me?

I want to say one last time,
That beauty will always be mine,"

The rain is falling lightly
Her tears leak out slowly.

Can a mannequin cry?
You ask with humour dry.

Perhaps the rain has melted her heart of ice,
Perhaps it�s the fear of being eaten by mice.

The tears mingle with raindrops
You wouldn�t know she was crying


Until you hear her silent screams
That speak of grief and stolen dreams.