Since I’m little and green, I don’t have many friends. Most people want to associate with other people just like them. I don’t know why that is. Does it make them feel safer?

It’s funny how sometimes things conspire to keep you hidden when in reality, all the time, there you are, sitting in plain sight. I guess that maybe it’s just one those little things like being on the outside, looking in but nobody else can see you. They’re too trapped in their own little word to care.

The mannequin has no past and it stares blankly
at the pedestrians and the passersby as they make their assigned rounds
off to God knows where and to do God knows what.
As they pass, they take on a blur that only comes
with a sense of familiarity of a never changing world.
The mannequin is oblivious to the sounds of the streets and the honking of horns
It dreams with its eyes wide open and is never interrupted
by something as simple and so sweet like the glare of the sun
or the blink of an eye.

The mannequin has no present and has no stories to tell
and even if it did, it would have nobody to listen
It has nothing to look forward to or to remember
The window that it stands in that acts like its own little perch on the world
is really its own little prison and it sees all or sees nothing at the same time
The mannequin cannot feel something as beautiful as a raindrop falling from sky
Because to it, the sky doesn’t exist and the pose that is struck
is the one that will be struck forever
And the screams that it emits are cast upon smiling faces and deafened ears

The mannequin has no future unless you consider fashion
but even then you’re talking about something that is fleeting at best
The mirror that it stares into hour after hour and day after day and year after year
Doesn’t even have the common decency to return an image
The mannequin only feels numbness and the hands that caress it are foreign
and the clothes that it wears are nothing more than a temporary disguise
that serve to shield it from a world it begs to be a part of..