When I was growing up I did not like barbie dolls.
I did not like the harsh edges of her collar bones or the plumpness of her perfectly pink lips.
I liked stuffed animals.
I liked the texture,
I liked how gentle they were.
You called me your barbie doll,
But guess what?
I am not sharp edges,
I am not perfection.
You called me your barbie doll,
But how does perfection have bags under her eyes that are as dark and heavy as the depression that fills her?
How is perfection bright hair and dark eye makeup?
I wanted to be your stuffed animal.
I wanted to be comforting at 2am after you wake up from night terrors.
I wanted to be loved.
But instead of loving me you crumbled me.
I was your ****** up,
Unconnected poetic thoughts.
I am not your barbie doll.
I am not perfection.
Yes, I may be crumbled but **** i have learned to love my creases.
I am not an object,
I am not your object.
I am not a barbie doll nor stuffed animal.
I am Athena Grace.
I am my own goddess.