You scowl in anger as I turn to go,
   Your gemstone eyes so full of jealous heat;
You do not understand, and cannot know
   The thoughts that turn my head and guide my feet.
The image which you have is incomplete,
   And so by definition soon will fall.
Your views are suffocating -- obsolete --
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

I will not bend my head or stoop down low
   To make myself a mindless slab of meat,
Or let my soul be shaken to and fro
   To lose itself and crouch beneath your seat.
Would you deny my voice to hear the bleat
   Of brainless chatter, just to watch me crawl
To bed and spread my legs beneath your sheet?
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

An ever-changing wind will come and blow
   Through Winter, Spring, and Summer, in the street;
And restless waters will forever flow,
   Their colors cool, their textures smooth and sweet;
Yet you would change the pulsing, throbbing beat
   Of Life and Love, to answer ev'ry call.
Mistakes made in the past, you would repeat --
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.

Your mental boxes, always stacked and neat,
   Have packed my essence up against a wall.
Take care, my love -- this gypsy heart is fleet;
   I will not be your pretty paper doll.