I am a Barbie doll.
The one that little girls
display on their bedroom shelves
and spend their nights
wishing to one day grow up to be like.
I sit still and perfect,
layers of dust caking my fragile skin
from years of only looks,
no touches.
I am a Barbie doll.
The one that every girl expects me to be,
with stereotypical blonde curls
that drape over my tanned shoulders,
covering the acne scars that secretly dot my skin.
My eyes are sky-blue
and so bright that they draw your attention away
from the dark circles that hide under my eyes
after countless, restless nights.
I am a Barbie doll.
The one that's always blending into the crowd,
following the latest trends
so that no girl will ever think
that I am "so last season."
My bright dresses are never wrinkled,
my makeup never smudged.
My high heels are always shiny,
my ruby-red nails never chipped.
I am a Barbie doll.
The one that's life depends on their looks, like
if my handbag matches my shoes,
if my diamond earrings sparkle at the right moments,
if my body has the right number of curves.
If a girl doesn't think I'm pretty enough,
I am not bought off the store shelves.
If someone gets teased for owning me,
I am shoved into the bottom of the toy chest to be forgotten about.
I am a Barbie doll.
The one that's the definition of perfection,
but the one that can easily break.
One false move,
and I will crack and crumble.
One false step,
and I will never see the light of day again–
Never be happy again.
But have I ever been?
2.25.2023