By Ariella Rosen
I see you there on the shelf
And I know you see me too.
I know your eyes are plastic
And I know they can’t look out,
But I know that you are looking
And staring into my soul.
Don’t look at me that way!
You have no business judging me.
There—now you are turned to the wall.
That should shut you up.
But I know you are still looking
Through the back of your plastic head.
I’ll throw a blanket over it.
Surely that will be enough?
But it won’t be, will it?
You’ll watch me till the day I die.