That day was the first time
That I saw the light.
Out of a carton, and onto a shelf.
My life was about to begin,
But I was alone and confined.

I could feel a presence to my left,
And another to my right,
But no one to please my eyes.
Till the little boy came,
With the tingle of a bell.
Wonder, gleamimg in his eyes;
He looked around and smiled.

He ran straight to my rack,
Brimming with excitement,
And jarred me with the shake of a lifetime.
Jumping to get his mum's attention,
He said, "I wan' this 'un!"

I felt a pang in the middle of my molded chest,
And I wished I could keep that smile.
I tried to imitate the little boy,
But for all my wishes I could not move;
I was but a plastic doll: armed, clothed and inanimate,
Stored to be sold...

The little boy was a joy to see,
Every morning he would wake up to me,
He would speak to me while going to school,
And play with me instead of eating his food.

His father and mum were hardly home,
He stayed with his nanny and loved her so,
But talk was little for the endless chores.

Late at night when his parents would come,
He would try to talk to them,
But was rushed away with talk of excuse.
In the dark he lay, tucked in with me,
Tears would stain the covers and me,
He held me close as he shut his eyes,
And the next morning again he'd wake to me.

For a life to be spent alone is sad indeed,
With a world so big and plenty,
To have not a soul to talk to can be lonely.
He cried with me by his side,
Thinking he was all alone;
If only I could move this plastic form,
I could let him know it wasn't so!

He played with me day and night,
He kept me close when he shut his eyes,
He took me to his school and everywhere else,
He gave me friends: his other toys and himself;
But his tears every night always stained my heart,
I strived so much to play my part,
To make him smile from dawn to dusk,
To comfort him when smiling was tough.

This cursed life I wish to forfiet,
If only once I could shed but a tear along with him--
*Even toys have things and people
They wish to protect and cherish,
But tears won't fall from these tin eyes...

little man by the bus stop
with his tin organs, all replaced
because his real ones failed him
(jst like he failed his old wfe)
squat top hat and fat wide smile
and he’s almost a cartoon
and he’s almost not a person.

In these moments she shatters her past like glass. Today she is miles from her visions of grandeur and grandmas home cooking. But, beneath the shade of her plastic sun, she chars her soul with self-doubt. Some would say she is more honest now, truer than she ever was before.

The skin
Folds
The body
Sags
The soul
Remains.

She tasted
Like candy.
But she
Looked like
Plastic.

Fix me
Doctor.
She said
Those words,
As she come
Undone.

She carved
A mask
Out of money,
Out of  misery.

She kicked
And screamed,
At youths door.
But it was gone.

Her face was still,
But her heart was broke.
She looked like plastic.

Hold your head higher,
thighs closer together,
tail bone just aligned.

Beauty is not a
classic thing, just
another poor design.

If the skin isn't flawless,
if the hair isn't just right,
it will simply be denied.

Plastic culture and plastic people
are what we've evolved into,
simply aching for a fix.

We see attractive as a
*** thing; changing ultimately
for the perfect mix.

Proportions sent from heaven,
a golden trio will do.
But when our expectations fail,
all that's left is imperfect "you."

It seems that these days nothing is real
The world around me shimmers artificially
Women will have procedures done to fit into the world of plastic
Men find it more simple to use cheep tricks to get a night of love
People on the street dress to make the illusion of perfection
Little girls stuff their bra's and paint on geisha faces pretending to be grown up
The sad truth is that,
Nobody is genuine anymore