THE OUTSIDE DOLL
I.
She was yeast,
a ball of polyurethane.
The lips of a bad decision
parted slightly like his hair,
and from the fulcrum of one's innocence,
yeast kneaded deep within itself.
II.
She was a bubble, was a doll
that had been left outside at night.
[Too bad the light has never shown
in corners where all babies
sleep.]
III.
"Little Jezebel," they said.
Her frock was worn too thin; she wore it like a noose
that hung around her neck.
"She couldn't cradle baby's
breath," they said, "It'll be
the death of her."
IV.
Loved her body then,
but talk more of it now. They love her more
these days
when talking's done behind her back,
and from a cloud
she cannot hear
their voice.
Adding your comment:
We are. And, it is always easier for people to judge others but we never really know the great mystery of life or the final outcome of a soul's destiny. I like this poem. You have the longest comment from me in ages! Very thought provoking and excellent word usage. 
