I reflect the many stories that I come to possess and in this, my dreams and my values mirror that of the characters. The surreal creations brought forth by the tip of a pen easily transform me into an entirely new self, consumed by the work at hand. If art is at the center then it becomes mine as well, if music is at the forefront then my heart becomes the same plucking strings of the guitar producing melodic but empty tunes. I am like a flowing river, reflecting what I come across but only for moments, as the print becomes my scenery and the pages become my home, I am a paper doll.

I am but a paper doll

whose actions are not her own and-

whose body echoes the pages of a novel

My movements are heavy

Like the covering I am encased and-

Sometimes they are light

Like the shaven trees as they turn

Each tale they tell

Weaves memories in me

Of places far gone and-

Time long forgotten

I spew forth words

Harsh and tragic

And sing sweet lullabies

Of honeysuckle babes and-

In each story do I fold

My character, my person

Is retold

I am easy but I am true

To the fiction, to the falsehood,

To the extravagance of its truth

For each fable fantasized

Are the paper places they create

Whose paper lives become ever real and-

Paper cuts hurt more than average pain

Panged at the heart are the pains

of these paper places

Are the joyous moments

for these paper people

But a paper doll like me

Can only see

Can only hear

Can only read

The words laid out are more than text

Are more than the ink the pen presses against

They are the trees

Giving breath to words and-

Escape for minds

That somehow think alike

This fabled world is very thin

Its separation lined in sheets

Of bare barked oak trees

As the pen continues to scream

Cry, laugh

It sings

But a paper doll like me

Only mimics its tune

Trying, trying, stringing, and-

Plucking at the melody

In hopes it will fill me

These crumpled up people

Pile up dust

Without this loyal doll

To breathe for them

Once more

But this tune is tampered and-

hard to hear and-

fade it will

Until the songs of paper people

Are mine again