by Askeisha

The pictures I took are of my favorite porcelain doll who i named after the doll in the poem, and where then Photo shopped to appear bruised and broken. The story of the pictures is really the story of the little girl in the poem who was unable to escape the abuse of her family, but I think that thought is a little depressing. So I think the pictures are more the dark side of abuse thats rarely spoken about, and that if you did a doll who was an abused child it be much more hopeful. You did a doll that was a tribute to breast cancer survivors because 1 in 8 women will find themselves with some type of breast cancer, a pretty horrifying statistic. However, 1 out of every 3 women will have been sexually assaulted before the age of 18. Thats a statistic not many people are aware, and just like breast cancer devastates women all over the world, so does abuse, one is just more publicized than the other. I myself am a statistic, and everyday i try harder not to be, so i know how devastating abuse can be. I would love to see you do a doll one day as a tribute to all the women who have escaped a childhood of abuse, and who carry there scars proudly, because so many are like Amanda and could not escape. After all, you doll on breasts cancer is about hope after a difficult choice, and i think anything about abuse must be to.

this is the poem i found: The art work is mine, the poem is not.

my name is Amanda,
I am but three,
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see,
I must be stupid
I must be bad,
What else could have made
My daddy so mad?
I wish I were better
I wish I weren't ugly,
Then maybe my mommy
Would still want to hug me.
I can't speak at all
I can't do a wrong
Or else I'm locked up
All the day long.
When I awake
I'm all alone
The house is dark
My folks aren't home
When my mommy does come
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get just
One whipping tonight.
Don't make a sound!
I just heard a car
My daddy is back
From Charlie's Bar.
I hear him curse
My name he calls
I press myself
Against the wall
I try and hide
From his evil eyes
I'm so afraid now
I'm starting to cry
He finds me weeping
He shouts ugly words,
He says its my fault
That he suffers at work.
He slaps me and hits me
And yells at me more,
I finally get free
And I run for the door.
He's already locked it
And I start to bawl,
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall.
I fall to the floor
With my bones nearly broken,
And my daddy continues
With more bad words spoken.
"I'm sorry!", I scream
But its now much too late
His face has been twisted
Into unimaginable hate
The hurt and the pain
Again and again
Oh please God, have mercy!
Oh please let it end!
And he finally stops
And heads for the door,
While I lay there motionless
Sprawled on the floor
My name isAMANDA
And I am but three,!
Tonight my daddy
Murdered me.

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Copyright © 2011 Marina Bychkova.