My poor body can only take so much
my threads of being aren’t meant for double dutch.
I’m aging and fragile, tattered and worn
I know for a fact this wasn’t why I was born.
Your words are like pins shoved straight into me
you may forget them but from them I can’t flee.
I’m not meant to suffer for the choices you make
and when you say sorry it just sounds so fake.
I’m not here to be tortured for what others do
but I swallow my feelings and just end up blue.
I don’t have a connection to those which you fight
so the pain you inflict just keeps me up at night.
You may just see me as your personal doll
to practice your voodoo on one and all
but there’s a simple fact that always rings true,
us poor little voodoo dolls, we need some love too.