It's a metaphor fool

A face
Painted to amuse
To emit a desire
To the eye,

A body, tall
Meant to bend in the contorted direction
Small, in all the right places of course

A home
With unforgiving walls
Remind me of where I can’t be

People passing through
Approval, or rejection
Smeared across their faces,
No one asked for it

A thought
Not meant to be mine,
We can’t think where I come from

Batted eyes
Even less mine

A mouth, slightly pouted
was no accident

A girl
ready to cry,
Unable to tear?

Tears can’t fall if painted eyes won’t close,

Besides,
Dolls can’t cry.