'' Bad Days Make Good Poems ''

Cordelia [general poem??]

Her name is Cordelia,
She is a porcelain doll.
She wears a necklace with carnelian,
And her dress is made of pall.

Cordelia has a vanity,
She sits for hours at it sometimes.
Pat on makeup to fulfill her fantasy,
To get compliments of all kinds.

Cordelia's room is a mess,
But she keeps herself neat and tidy.
She doesn't make much cleaning progress,
But she hopes they think of her kindly.

Sometimes when she gets home,
Her porcelain cracks apart in bits.
And among her room's rubbage, she'll comb,
So she can find each piece to glue back where it fits.

She finds it almost humorous,
Just behind this bedroom door.
That outside she looks so glamourous,
But in here she picks parts of herself up off the floor.

Cordelia sits at her vanity and leans over,
With superglue and her makeup.
To put her porcelain fragments in order,
And cover the cracks' lines as they come.

It makes Cordelia upset to know,
How easy these things are for plastic dolls.
Being made of porcelain gives one much more to undergo,
One must find many more resolves.

She hums a little tune,
Swinging her glass shoes back and forth.
Sitting at her vanity another afternoon,
But allowing, for herself, to feel warmth.