• Little girls keep playing,
    Whispering dreams into my ears,
    I hear nothing but soft wind flowing through plastic,
    I have become what I am through random events
    Random events leading to compromise.
    I am not what you see.
    These pink walls of my dungeon-
    Where dreams come to die-
    Silicone covers who I am.
    Injections hiding who I want to be-
    Only showing what is expected.
    I am not this princess for you to play-
    Ken is not my love that I fell for in harmony.
    Barbie is not my identity, only what you want to see in me.
    I am alone.
    I am alone surrounded by plastic.
    My every being, my soulless casket beating like a drum
    In my chest, fluttering like the shattering breeze
    In winter.
    I am cold.
    Dying amongst the living as they
    Pour their dreams into my presentation.
    I am nothing more then what they have made me.

    My voice has been silenced,
    By the misconceptions,
    My mind means nothing to you,
    Cosmo, Glamor and Scene Magazine,
    Teaching me to be what I’m expected to be

    Drowning myself in seas of how to’s.
    Keeping up with the same foolish
    Perception of reality
    I am not beautiful unless I am
    Making a sandwich in the kitchen.
    Making my face unrecognizable
    In front of the mirror.
    Each season creating a
    Disposable version of myself.
    I am no longer words scribbled on the page-
    I am a voice repeated by millions before.
    Swimming with hate,
    Sticking to my body like glue,
    Forcing me to become.
    Fantasy.
    Forcing me to become.
    You.