Sionnacha

The little girl, elated she may have found her help,
ran to the door, which said,
DO NOT ENTER IF YOU ARE UNDER THIS TALL.
'That's weird,' thought the little girl;
those warnings were only
found in Broken China City.

But she found some stilts, becoming an imposter
once again, walked through the door
and said:
‘I'd like some help please’

Little was she to know, their help came
with a price. The one who came out the
back, she looked like she'd gone through the
bombings herself, a dark time and place.

Broken pieces covered her mostly whole body, so
this little girl, she began to believe and
hope for some guidance
and love through this constantly dim twilight. 

It sounded fun, it sounded like
a possibility. She said ‘Sign me up!’
Little was she to know, she had signed a
contract, detailing her eventual
descent into
madness, hopeless and maybe
HER DEATH

A professional camp, pushing out broken
china men and broken china women every
month, telling her things she'd already
heard and things she already knew.

At that point, she thought ‘I can't complain.
I chose this path for me.’ At that point,
she thought ‘This is what I deserve. This is what
I need. There's no escaping
Broken China City.’

So, as she cried herself to sleep once
a week, she began to break herself
down as everyone told her

Not pretty enough
Not determined enough
Not smart enough
Not good enough

She thought again, ‘This is what I need. This is
What I deserve. No more and no
less than I asked for.’

The hideous
Disfigured
Grotesque
Monsters who worked in this camp,
they were all professionally broken down
themselves. Making it look like being a
living weapon was a work of art.

The little china girl at this point lost all
hope in a better life, a better world. Where people
appreciated your hard work and
praised you for a job well done.

In the camp, she realized she was no better off
than she'd been outside, but she didn't
see things through halfway.

In a fit of anger and madness, she thought ‘Fine.
If they want to see me broken down,
that's what they'll get.’

And so it began:

She covered herself
in turpentine. She stayed
in the freezing cold and burning heat
saying that it didn't bother her. She began to
trip on every rock and stone in her path.
She ran into trees and buildings.

When she thought enough pieces had
fallen off, she started going to the secondhand
shops, and when she couldn't afford it,
started to make backroom deals.

Started to sell pieces of her sanity and her
happiness, she sold pieces of her golden hair and
her bright blue dress. She took burnished pieces
of her cheekbones apart to pay
for the broken china
she needed to blend into this
broken world.

The other children, the poor children she'd thought
when she walked in, several were already
in various states of disrepair, she could tell,
they'd given so many pieces away, they'd never go
back to the way they were.

Like little soldier children, they'd been hijacked
from their lives, not knowing any better,
not seeing any better, they did what
they were told. They'd never been told
it could be different.

Before long, the little china girl was covered in broken edges;
SPLINTERS
FRAGMENTS
CRACKS and FRACTURES

She was where she thought she needed to
be at this point. But then the adults looked
at her and said

STILL NOT GOOD ENOUGH

She looked at herself, sad and depressed, wondering what more
Could they want from her?

Then she looked at her feet, the only thing she still
hadn't given away, cause she knew if she
did, she would no longer have her stable
footing. She wouldn't be able to run and
skip, or ever walk again.

So, at the end of the line, she cried nearly the
whole night through. No matter what she did was never
good enough; still they wanted the last piece,
the last true, genuine piece
of her, her soul, her essence, her feet.

So, one day, walking back after a day of
tripping, thinking that could be good enough,
she realized again, nothing more than what they
asked would be good enough,

There came a voice that said, ‘Stop! Wait! You are
good enough. You're still beautiful.
You are smart and genuine. You're funny and
wonderful. You're everything you need to be.’

Startled, the little china girl dropped the rock she'd
been holding to smash her feet into
smithereens. She looked around and
realized who it was.

Immediately she thought, you're not real. A figment of
my imaginings. Or a plant, a seed. Used to make
hope and believe and dream again,

‘YOU'RE NOT REAL’
The little china girl shouted at the
apparition. She started to back away in fear. Cause
nothing can destroy you faster than a
wish. No one in this camp had a
real heart.

They were pawned away ages ago. There's
no such thing as a dream is a wish your heart
makes, the girl repeated in her head like a
mantra. What she'd been saying
since day one.

The apparition came closer, thundering loud,
“What do you mean I'm not real? I'm as real as you
and this tree, I'm as real as that rock you
just dropped.

I'm real and you're real.
And I'm saying you're beautiful and smart and
talented and funny. I'm saying you're good enough and
I can see you're motivation and determination.

I can see you're a good person and a trustworthy
person. I can see you're a good friend and a
hard worker, I can se-“

‘No! Stop!’ the little girl cried out, fearing that this
apparition, no, this woman, had started to make
her believe and hope again. She raised her little glass shards
of hands to cover her face,
cover her ears.

This blasphemy wasn't something she'd be able
to hear, not after all her time in that
place, that godforsaken place. Oh god,
well there, she'd done it.

She glared at her, saying, ‘I hope you're happy
now. I claim no responsibility
for what comes after.’

For this woman had cracks and tears but she'd never
been broken, not in any obvious way that could be
seen. Maybe she'd walked out of the fire and
survived, the strongest glaze she could see.

Little by little, she began to build up this
little glass doll, removing the broken pieces and
gluing in her own, the pieces she'd found on
the sidewalks and behind the building.

Some in the trash and some with the
children. Eventually, she looked almost new, but
there were pieces, original pieces she'd never
be able to get back:

Her fingers
Her finish
Her polish
Her hair
Her cheekbones
Her eyes

But being told she was good enough was
just enough. She could see, for the first
time realizing, maybe this world
can be more than it seemed.

She went out to share the news, to spread her
revelation. People needed to hear about this, she
thought, people need to understand they don't need
to be ragged edges of mismatched pottery anymore.

But no one wanted to hear her message, no one wanted
to have any part. Fine, I'll keep it to myself,
damn you all for the doubt.
I'm better off anyway.

Eventually, the china girl, not so little
anymore, went back to her glass bubble, realizing
that in her revelation, there might be one who
wanted to hear. One who it might
be able to help.

Before any of their work started to tear down
her self confidence and self esteem
methodically, like blind surgeons
with scalpels.

She raced home to find, in her dismay, that
her sister's bubble had already been
broken. Not from outside as hers had
been, but from the inside,
and remembered, 

As a graduating ceremony, the deformed pieces
of china bestowed upon,
as a gift to you, broken arms and broken legs.
They combed your hair with a wire
brush, and powdered your face with
turpentine, saying, ‘Oh, how beautiful you look.’

They took her fingers and her ears, they took
the golden curlicues of her hair, they took her blush
and her smile, sold them to the highest bidder.

I came home and fell to my knees, thinking:

My sister is already lost to me.

My sister keeps me a saint.
My sister brings out the worst.

Individual though we are, some sense of
purpose is surely lost

If one of us is gone.
Life functions, as it should, separate from the
rest
Yet together all the while.

Inside me, a sleeping, raging demon who curses

at the sun

in the

sky.

 With them, the child, already emotionless, comes out.
Living life backwards
it seems,
is the only birthright it ever received.

Having perfected the abilities of the
mannequins,
The other lives in a glass bubble-

Able to see
Able to hear
BUT
Unable to speak
Unable to be seen

A   n  invisible existence  R   a   g   e   s   at the  M   a   c   h   i   n   e  …

After a short eternity inside the little glass bubble,
she begins to grow weary, becomes complacent in her prison.
Soon, she begins to decorate.
Taking ownership of her
silence.

What she fails to realize is that
her spirit is already broken.
The voices outside, the nightmarish faces we've
grown used to over the years,
allow her to speak.

Like a parrot, they've trained;
                                    like a parrot, they        

fed and watered and sheltered,
Clearing the
patches of dust
And breath,
of life and death,
of the world
Off the surface of her terrarium.

They tell her, these are the words you must say,
these are the clothes you must wear.
This is how you must look and
This is what you
BELIEVE

I'm not sure if she knows
That she jumps around like a trained monkey.

Finally, when they deem that we've learned enough,
We're let out; welcome
to join the masses of

The Living Dead
Bone and China.

With needle sharp teeth, sometimes it's
Hard to notice when you've been cut.
Fingers made out of broken bones,
Reshaped
Reformed.

This is Alice gone wrong.
This is the China village, broken and burnt.
They are the monsters they created to
keep children in
bed at night.

Misshapen bodies writhe from one place to
another in a semblance of walking.
Their bone fingers click-clack
like knitting needles.

Their eyes do not see, nor do their ears hear a
peep. Their mouths stretch
open with a creak, but listen closely,
maybe you'll hear

the words of their native tongue-

unfit
unworthy
not good enough
irresponsible
immature
not smart enough
quitter
does not listen
does not do as she's told

OUR TOY IS BROKE

Meanwhile, the one who's never left,
She cleaned her glass bubble on her own. No one left
to give a damn, slowly
slipping
on her sanity. If not for the glass tube connecting
her sister and her, she would not
respond at all.

One day, while a drunken bone lady was passing her bubble, she fell
on her tiny China feet.
The bubble was broken, while she just
staggered to her feet again, her laugh
like nails on a chalkboard.

The little girl, shrunk against the far side of her
bubble, stayed there for a very long time.

Her muscles grew sore
Her breathing was short and shallow, bunched up as she was.
Her hair grew long.
Eventually, she struck up the courage to let her legs down. She started

Slowly,
hour by hour,
by day by month,
by year……

She inched to the opening in the glass.
First she put her hand near the opening, testing to see what would happen.
When nothing did,
Next she inched her hand along the glass,
up and over the top.
Through the opening and down the side.

For years, she wondered what the outside looked

like. And now that she'd seen, she could no

longer be a little glass doll.

Between her sister and her, she was mostly still whole.
You could see the chips and missing spaces,
tiny little black holes where society
had managed to chip away.

With discarded glue she found in a chest,
it had a warning saying: ‘Use with caution:
You'll only be broken in the end'
With only one bottle in hand,
she took it in search of more.

She crept carefully over the broken glass,
learning how to play in a broken china world.
Unlike her sister, she was stubborn and
difficult, refusing the ‘help’ they offered.

Because, quickly learned, their help was a
double-edged, broken-ended sword.
So she stayed away, far away from the
broken china. Until, one day, she realized it
couldn't stay that way.

Among the ruins and in the rubble of
the broken china village, she began to assemble and
pick up pieces, gluing them to herself
haphazardly. If she broke along with it,
then so be it.

Everything she did only broke her further
anyway, and helped her to fit in the
broken china world. The only remaining piece of
herself, she did not allow to be touched:

Her feet
so she remained stable even
if she fell.

Along the way, she found
people living amongst the monsters,
and thought she could be herself.

But with time and errors she realized,
that they were broken themselves. Not visibly,
but broken all the same. Finding out, the only way to
survive in broken china world, was to
become an imposter as well.

They were broken out and picked up pieces of
china too, they glued them on and made
it do. They learned how to scheme, and how to
dress and how to talk, as well as
the broken china could.

This little porcelain doll, realizing she had not
made the cut to live in this world,
kicked herself to the sidelines, to see how broken
china lived and to see what they did.

Eventually, she picked up the pieces
again, tried to make her way through the smoke
and ashes of that horrible horrible
day. That place where the
broken china say never to go.

And in the ruins she found something….
A beacon shining to the light,
Proclaiming:
'All those who are lost, we'll set you straight'