I live in a dollhouse

and everything is tiny

My desk is for a child

My dog is wee

My eyes are beady

My feet hang off the end

of my miniscule bed

and my stove is thin

like a playing card

My lover too has shrunk up

to fit the toy shower

the slip of our kitchen

the plastic frame

of the puny couch

The thing is my ego

is ballooning

amidst all the miniature

The thing is my body

is stomping around like

the 50-Foot-Woman

with no regard

for the size

of my tremendous feat

I am monstrous

and the dollhouse

cannot contain me

My lover cannot

contain me

The weather cannot

contain me

My limp sheer dresses 

cannot contain me

And I am not ashamed

for the petite pain

of my wake I am

unbelievable