The Puzzzle Box

I find the Paradox of myself in a puzzle box upon a shelf. Tattered, torn and sprinkled with dust my mind hesitates but open it i must.
As the lid lifts wide my eyes peer inside. Disbelieving what i see this China doll cant be me.
All curls an lace yet there's sadness on my face for beneath my golden hair is emptiness an despair.
As i try to touch this beautiful doll i find she sits behind an invisible wall, to protect her porcelain heart from the worlds wickedness that may tear it apart.
So the paradox you see is if alone i am to be then what good is the beauty of this doll to me?