#barbie
When you don't know
Where to go
When you feeling all alone
Look inside yourself
There's so much more than you know
When you're stuck and out of time
You can cross the finish line
You're a champion
You're always be a winner
Aug 17, 2024
Aug 17, 2024 at 9:43 AM UTC
Im a barbie girl, in this barbie world
It's fantastic, everyone's plastic
You cannot feel me their
Why do you think you can stop and stare
********** me with that, imagination.
I post daily, fooling everybody
That I am perfect.
It's horrific.
Convorting myself into this typical dumb blond chartor.
Glaze upon my skin as it is flawless
Little do they know it's stage makeup and filters
I have many scars on the inside.
I am starving, but cannot dream to take a bite
Got to pretend that my body is perfect.
Im a barbie girl, in this toxice world
I am drowning, but the waters plastic
You cannot feel me their
But you could not care
********** me quickly, it's fantastic.
Telling all the little girls thats i'm so happy
And this is their dream life
While hiding in the corner hating every part of myself.
Somebody save me from this glitter nightmare.
I'm stuck inside this dollhouse
The walls won't break
They just dress me up, because my lifes a game
But jokes on them, my blond is fake.
I hate my pretty pink prison.
Im a barbie girl living in a hell world,
It is honestly fantastic, no my heart is plastic
You maze well touch me their and undress me anywhere
Now I have realized no one really cares.
Yes im a barbie girl, living in a barbie world
I am now an addict , it's fantastic
No one want to stop and stare
No one wants to feel me there
When I'm washing down the pain with pills and drinks.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 2:44 AM UTC
___FLUFF:___
_Frequently, I discover words with hidden meaning, shining like coins in a handful of fluff, apple seeds and other down-the-back-of-the-sofa leavings. Some are too precious to share and I secrete them away. Others I spend cheaply on rigged slot machine verbiage. Mostly they sit waiting to be written usefully. Adding insight, lending moment to my day._
§
___NONSENSE:___
_Foraging amongst the dahlias
For Cinderella’s lost slipper,
I am Barbie magic made manifest,
I am Germaine (sodding) Greer’s antifem,
I am Super Mum with gumboots on._
§
___ABSURDITY:___
_The best nonsense is always spoken in the middle of the afternoon while heading north on a train bound for a smallish beige town, and so it was that the occupants of second-class carriage BG1754 found themselves gripped by a kind of eloquent hysteria as they rattled around the final bend in the tracks before the steep descent to the weatherboard station at Claggy Peat._
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 3:51 AM UTC
Let There be Barbies
Let the children have their night of fun and laughter.
Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play.
-Churchill, Christmas Eve radio address, 1941
Some young mothers ban Barbies and Santa Claus
And all such trinkets and dolls and mummeries
Sacrificing childhood to fashionable gossip -
In obedience to the Holy Internet
A toy Cochise must never ride again
Or little plastic soldiers defend their forts
Or Maid Marian roam with Robin Hood –
Barbie must never be dressed for success
Little children can now sit on the floor
On Christmas morn to play with ideologies
Dec 6, 2020
Dec 6, 2020 at 1:08 PM UTC
Perfect here perfect there perfect everywhere if this is what you want then I'll bye you the most perfect barbie doll in the world but by then you'll have moved on and sing a different song but my heart will groan and moan till I'm pretty plastic perfect.
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 9:37 PM UTC
My favorite Barbie doll is still my favorite Barbie doll when she isn’t wearing the dress she came with.
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
rub those
tears off
your full on
baked make-up
face,
wipe those mascara
drippings and
fix your lipstick
because i can
see you breaking
even if you hide it
get it together, barbie
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
"Whoever thou mayest be, beloved stranger, whom I meet here for the first time, avail thyself of this happy hour and of the stillness around us, and above us, and let me tell thee something of the thought which has suddenly risen before me like a star which would fain shed down its rays upon thee and everyone, as befits the nature of light. - _Fellow man! Your whole life, like a hourglass, will always be reversed and will ever run out again_, - a long minute of time will elapse until all those conditions out of which you were evolved return in the wheel of the cosmic process.
And then you will find every pain and every pleasure, every friend and every enemy, every hope and every error, every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine once more, and the whole _fabric of time_ which makes up your life. This ring in which you are but a grain will glitter afresh forever. And in every one of these cycles of human life there will be one hour where, for the first time, one man, and then many, will perceive the mighty thought of the eternal recurrence of all things: -|- and for mankind this is always the hour of Noon" )|( when the _One True Queen of the Universe_ is Crowned. )|(
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
where was I; every pin-up came alive;
dosed on LSD-25 I saw the heavens
open & angels descend in evening gowns
& tiaras & I was amazed, thinking I was gay until all at once
in a flash of lightning, the angels were wearing skimpy swimsuits
& I had an instant ***** rising from my couch & shouting :
Hallelujah! Hallyu! Ha! Ha! wth!then the angels were naked
[every rib accounted for; flat tummy to snort coke & eat sushi from;
[this is the face of my love] ❤ wearing only colored sashes & seven-inch flesh tone stilettos each a 10!] [perfect female specimen -formed of natural gifts & talents coupled w/ a rocking nubile *** - ] Millennials will never know what bliss ( )
is to ogle girl's flesh; no harm done,
'don't touch the dancers': sign in a strip club,
& I lay on my back watching the stars twirl
like [on my back in the grass in Central Park,
yuppies ashamed of being *****
only a few feet away; I heard her scream
& ❤ her neck snap,
belly-dancing d ervishes spinning through
space giving my life meaning; I need to shed
tears on my mother's kosher ******* & suckle
her aged teats like a lover or a cat; the day
Barbie walked into my life ❤
I saw every star light up, I swear she was there
naked in the flesh & ( ) I didn't touch her, didn't know how to play w/ her & just looked at her until my eyes bled; I couldn't see, I could only **** my mother in the pitch dark w/ the shades drawn or else I'd throw up;
Barbie is not a romantic, she wants it like a dog ; ❤
I know her body like a metaphysical road map; following the red vein until it tuns onto the blue artery leading both up & down her inner thigh like Highway 61; I got there eventually but didn't stay, regretfully I had to write a masterpiece using our commingled blood & trusty raven's quill
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:40 PM UTC
it's always the ******
w/ the biggest implants
whining, 'why don't men
love me for who I am?'
I don't like Barbie b/c
she looks like a woman;
I like women b/c they
look nothing like Barbie
beauty contestants are
professionals; they're
supposed to look good
teetering on seven-inch
heels in a thong while
wearing a push-up bra to
perform brain surgery or
flying to Mars & beyond;
sending Barbies into space
would mess w/ alien's minds
for sure; 'these are obviously
religious figurines. hmmm' -
& somewhere deep in the Scorpio
Nebula an astroarchaeologist gets
curious about the long-abandoned
space cargo; 'no genitals, u say?'
boomed his three-eyed mentor;
'these creatures never existed;
they are purely mythological
creations & even were they to
roam some bizarre alien world
they would fall over on those
spindly legs & tiny feet; as I'll
continue to insist, such monsters
could never see life;' the lecture
went on & on; about how the two
large lumps on the upper front
torso have no discernible function
other than to throw the creature off-
balance; but then later, under the cool rainbow night ,
w/ the several moons emitting their familiar colored waves ;.;
the astroarchaeologist had the most disconcerting dream;
made the more disturbing in that no one of their race had ever dreamt before- it was unheard of,
& yet all he saw, smelled & heard
were female voices chattering from 1,000,000,000 different
directions
at once; he saw butts & ***** in every size
& proportion; snooches being shaved in a flurry of wet blades;
no chafing; band-aids on ******* more bouncing tanned rear ends running to the showers; lingerie
flying like cats after birds; seven-inch Plexiglas stilettos -
[the entire room stinks of ***** & farts, he notes ]
tampons in; music up & when the curtain F
opens the orchestra crescendos
the svelte army of leggy contestants;
bathing beauties marches into the limelight &
stand tall & ***** defying the howling
mad crowd surrounding them in a glittering star & family -filled gala Colosseum -sized arena;
the spectacle is to boost the morale of the ]
e ***** men & women who smile w/
malicious leers every time camera's eye catches their
perverted glare;
upon waking the astroarchaeologist
looks over at his desk; the seven - inch - woman taunting him
'but how,' he thought & rolled over back to sleep
to dream once again of the Barbie Nation;
no such creature could ever exist;
but some such creature had to create it &
therefore as the learned philosophers are wont to say,
how could an unknown creature create the
image of a nonexistent creature unless that
unknown creature strongly resembled the non-existent creature
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC
I have a Barbie doll that is so cheap & slutty
she's wearing a belly chain like the cheapest
blonde stripper/hooker on the beat up strip;
seems she struck up a thing w/ a Hans Solo
I found but he's holding a laser pistol &
has articulated wrists; so I get that at first sight
he's thinking who's this nasty little piece
of white trash w/ the nice *** of pink
molded plastic; he's got hard slick backed hair
& he's wearing that stiff Star Wars outfit cuz
god forbid they give a male doll a decent wardrobe;
so he's no metrosexual & I guess technically
he's a movie star; he does look like a young Harrison
Ford; Barbie on the other hand has long slender limbs
& hard fake **** that look real except
she has no ******* which I've heard can happen
& a thin wasp-waisted torso; long out of whatever
clothes she had on as if she's been wandering
back alleys dizzy & naked; I know that happens
but it's never a good story exactly; I'd already
stripped her naked
& dripped hot wax
all over her perfect little **** so now it's covered
in clear solidified drips of viscous wax;
it looks nastier than its sounds; wax on plastic: ouch...
so I had been thinking about polishing her up; u know
giving her a Barbie Spa day to make up for abusing &
mistreating her; treating her like a toy I can just set
on the shelf & forget about; I've lost so many gfs
that way but me & Barbie we're not serious;
I mean she's my property but u know I understand
she's got needs & we're two different...well, I set
Hans Solo beside her on the shelf & next I see
he's on his knees with his pants down sniffing
at her ***** **** I'm thinking not a good look
but when I pick him up to move him
he winds up behind Barbie with his pants
down; his left hand's tangled in her hair
and his right's holding the gun to her head;
I figured she's had worse & left them to it;
they're still there & I haven't forgotten
I still owe her that Spa Day
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
It's built to be a Dollhouse
so no one would fathom what treasures lay inside
*No judgement or hesitations could be formed
& those coming out would stay untried*
*Unpredictable's crazy sister runs the place
She's truly endearing--
In the rare case she doesn't sense your*
Exposed fears seething
*But no worries going in!
As long as your tendencies aren't combative
and your head's outta your ***
and your phone's outta your fac*e
You'll be posthaste to a resonating rever*ence
for this wonderfully eccentric/benevolently psychotic place
As long as you play nice, you won't have any deadly problems*
At the Dollhouse Asylum
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 12:46 AM UTC
i must plaster on
chemicals and colors,
to be beautiful.
i am required
to be plastic,
prim and proper,
servants in my
own lives,
always being
and thinking,
and doing,
exactly
what i'm told.
i am a doll,
a tool,
only there for
the joy and service
of others,
just because i was
born as i am,
something in which
i have no control.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 2:01 PM UTC
hi, i'm blonde now.
and everyone loves it so much
but why?
why you people like this simple color
it's so boring and plain
ohhhh i hate it so much
it remainds me of perfection
it's just like BARBIE
that freaking doll
and you all like it
and i'm starting to hate
you all for that!
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
Open the curtains to the show
Bow down politely
What do you know?
Strings tangled up
Wrapped all around
Spinning me
Twirling me
Making me dance
Dance to the beat of the fingers
Twisting the strings
Bending me like rubber
All for the plastic applause of the audience
Clap clap for whoever's on stage
Smiles are painted
Cheers are fake
Idolize me for my body
For my face
If you don't turn out like me
You'll be a disgrace
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
I live
In a cardboard cutout house
Our plates and silverware
Are plastic
The food adorning them
Plastic as well
Glossy and vibrant
But poisonous if consumed
No water will pour
From the sink or tub
If you try to turn
The handle
The plants are fake
The dog is fake
The microwave won't turn on
The floor looks wooden
(which may be the case)
For there is no carpet
in sight
No decor to behold
I try to pull back
The sheets on the bed
Only to find
That they're entwined--
Attached to the mattress
That feels more like
Pottery
I lean down to see
"Made in China"
Etched on the side
Of the frame
My footsteps echo
Down the hall
On the wooden floor
Of the cardboard cutout house
Until I finally see
Something living
Something real
Until I get close.
Her skin is matte
Her eyes are dull
Her teeth are chalk white
Her hair (maybe made from silk?)
sits perfectly in place
She is positioned with a smile--
Her vinyl arm bent at the elbow
Masquerading a friendly wave
She is merely a sculpture
A doll of a human being
Filled with wax instead of tissue
Factory made, not a product of Love(TM)
I escape
Away from the figurine Mother
The clay bed
Hard floors
Prop kitchenware and
Plastic food
Because a cardboard cutout house
is not a home.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
Mattel gave us Barbie and Ken,
They never grew old, according to them,
But, can you handle reality?
Barbie and Ken are now over fifty!
Barbie is fat with varicose veins,
With hairy legs, not so vain,
And Ken shall never see his toes again,
His six pack has turned into a beer belly,
Walking makes Ken quiver like jelly,
But, hey, they're forever Mattel,
Barbie's too old to say, "Ken, go to hell!"
Sad, but true, our childhood friends,
Yet they did grow old, Barbie and Ken........
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 4:05 AM UTC
You can wipe the makeup off your overdrawn cheekbones, Barbie
But you're still plastic.
And you're still hollow.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 10:24 PM UTC
Perfect: I used that word once to talk about you
as if you were a doll with limbs made of plastic:
stiff and whimsical and subject to the niggardly
commands of the conscious- yet you, who thinks
as aggressively as any doll-house builder do not
construct your own set-pieces; instead you
pirouette into one carefully constructed day to the
next as you delicately
stride
from bed to shower to wardrobe to mirror to desktop to
window to mirror to mirror to
mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them
all-
and the staid look on your face when the mirror gives no
answer
because it can’t. Checkered skirt, sharp eyelashes, wary
jumper, almost heels. Perfect, you might think
for a moment before your eyes roll gently from self
to mirror
to self
to mirror
to mirror
the self. What was
it that you were looking for if all it does is lead
you back to your skin? Meanwhile, the snow
stutters softly from above as if God had dandruff-
perfect- and it all gently glazes the spongy surface of the world like
flawless coconut icing on some sorry party cake- perfect- and the morning
bell rings impossibly on time like the last
breath you thought was your last- perfect- and somewhere in
America I use words to remind you of the little
unreachables
of perfection that both start and end with your perfectly
snow-pale skin, where somewhere in
America and somewhere on
your thighs perfect ridges of red have formed themselves like
plastic scratches on a Barbie which we both think
are little but we both know
are big
because you are not plastic.
At nighttime our feet
skip on the icy brick pathways that lead from
the dorm-rooms to the library and we shiver
as the snowflakes bob in and out of our bodies
like thoughts
that seem funny but aren’t quite- they melt away
as soon as they stumble upon our skin. From our mouths
cloudy puffs of being flutter out- little butterflies affirming
out listless snowflake-filled minds, sperming out ice-clouds
from our mouths, our mouths, our mouths; birthing friendship.
Breath, visible, is laughter. I trip and swear and momentarily
skate
across a sudden ice-surface as you speak another ice-breath. We
arrive
at the library but dart towards the empty right-side, the science
classrooms. We hope
to examine the thought-skirmishes on your right thigh, to turn
and change this hopeless world-spinning into centrifuge
separation-
make apparent the light from the dark
the firmament from the void
the flesh from the plastic, the-
here we are as you talk
about your family and I
try my best to look you
in the eye so I
can become
your eyes
even when
normally
I
am
so
vehemently
against
staring
at the soul-gates of another being-
here we are as you talk;
God is still missing from the centrifuge
of the endlessly turning world- your
axis
is your skin yet
you trust it
not. The salads without dressing,
the weighing scales,
the taste of bile at the back of your
throat-
all for skin that
you
do
not
trust.
All for flesh that you think is plastic
so
you
cut.
Enough
talk because the bell cuts through the flesh
of our conversation. Enough
talk because the world insists on
turning still
and forcing us to revolve
with it. Enough
breathing, enough
snow, enough
life. I remember you saying
that the ratios of your face are wrong;
that certain equilibriums do not exist between
your cheeks your lips your eyes your life…I remember the science
classrooms where parts of you were as mathematical as the architecture... I remember how
you keep thinking your flesh is plastic… You forget how
inglorious the nature of these words is. The problem
with human thought, with the ratios of your face, with the
geometric structures that cut across your thighs, with the
statistical neatness with which your family decomposes;
the problem with our conception of perfect is how
awkwardly it both exists and does not exist for us to
see.
The ratios of your face which you think are broken are
the same miracles I wonder about as you laugh. The incorrect distance
from your cheek to your eye which you think is wrong is the same
lightyear which separates the stars from the planets. The curvature
of your stomach is the bending of a spacetime to accommodate
the way the air must move to let your body occupy the space and time in which it
exists.
The ratios you speak of spring from your own limitlessness, your own
perfect imperfections , imperfect perfections-
strange oddities and unfathomable beauties and yes. Yes,
even the ridges across your right thigh are minute, red,
gasping
grand-canyons of
flesh,
of human, of breathing clay
flesh-
never
plastic;
always
worthy.
Recently the voices in my head have been getting louder,
telling me all sorts of things about how the snow ought to bury me
in its mercilessness. They mention also that my words bear no meaning,
my thoughts even less so. Assumedly, the ridges across your thigh
carry such spectres as well but, I messaged you before you went to bed
about coming out and having an adventure because tick-tock-tick-tock…tick…tock…tick-
the last bell of the day is going to ring soon and the voices and ridges
will assert themselves again with the bedtime silence, but check your Facebook
messages and come outside and let’s go skipping with your friends across
the century-old polished prep-school brick pathways that smell archaic because it’s
snowing outside and it’s lovely.
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
Why do people do ... ?
The things ... that they do ... ?!?
It's ...
Funny ... to me ... !!!
Is it ...
Funny ... to you ... ???
NOT ... !!!!! ...
Funny ... Ha Ha ... !!!!!
..... " Funny " ......
with ... NO LAUGHS ... !!!!!!
When people ... Do Things ...
That ... BREAK ... Peoples' Hearts ... !!!
Like Men ... BEATING Wives ... !!!!
Or .... Girls who .... "Connive" ....
See .....
These ... Are The People ... !!!
who lives are ... Contrived ... !!!
So ...
Why do they do it ... !?!
Their actions are ... STUPID ... !!!!
They Think ... they're ...
Sooooooo ... SMART ... !!!!
But ...
What's in their ... Heart ... ???
A vision of ... TRUTH ...
or a life of ... PURE FARCE ... !!!!!
I'm writing ... This Piece ...
cos' of ... something I Saw ... !!
A fight on ... my street ...
but hey ... What was the score ... ?!?
I'm just at home ... cooling ...
Watching .... " Channel Four " ....
but ...
Next thing you know ...
I'm out the front door ... !!!
I hear a girl ... CRY ... !!!
Then see ... a white guy
who CLEARLY ... was ... FUMING ... !!!!!
I asked myself ... " Why " ... ???
Next thing you know ...
I hear a glass ... SMASH ... !!!
The girl ... and her child ...
were making a ... DASH ... !!!!!!!!
The White Guy ...
Still SHOUTING ... !!!!!
Picked up ... A BILLBOARD ... !!!!!!!!!!
and then tried to ... RAM IT ...
Right Through The ... Pub Door ... !!!!!
I figured ... " Maybe " ... ?
I should make a ... " Call " ...
But ...
This is the ... " Story " ...
of what I then ... SAW ... !!!!!
A pair of police ...
pulled up on the street ...
and grabbed the white guy ...
Like Butchers ... GRAB MEAT ... !!!!!
The white guy ... Complained ... !!!
and still wasn't ... " tame " ... !!!
and this is where ... " NUMBERS " ...
then entered .... " The Game " ....
Next thing you know ...
NOT ... ONE Car or ... TWO ...
But ...
VAN Upon VAN ...
of ... MORE POLICEMAN ... !!!!!
The way they were coming ....
had people like ... Damnnnnnnnn ... !!!!!!!!
It took .....
SEVEN ... of them ... !!!!!
to control this ... ONE MAN ... ?!?
The rest of them ...
STOOD THERE ...
Just like a ... " Street Gang " ...
I took one ... " Aside " ...
and said ...
"Listen man, why ?
So many of you,
to restrain, this one guy ?"
He said,
"A one on one struggle
could leave someone hurt !"
I then bit my tongue ...
But thought ....
( SHUT UP, You Berk !!! )
But then ... one of them ...
Tried to ... Argue with me ... !!!
I said ....
"Look at your wagons,
just blocking my street !
It's simply, excessive !
Don't argue with me !
On my Thursday Night,
I don't want to see !
My road blocked with cars
cos' of, STUPID POLICE !
Your actions, as usual,
aren't necessary !"
Now I know they're ...
... " Peacekeepers " ...
But Hey ...
What's with police ... ???
In Fact ......
You know ... WHAT ... !!!
... The Police ... !!!!! ...
SEE ....
Why do they do it ?
Treat People like ... MEAT ... !!?!!
They are a ... " Factor "
in ... VIOLENT STREETS ... !!!
Don'y You ... all agree ... ???
Well ... whether you do ...
Let's make this ... COMPLETE ... !!!
What about people ...
Who do .... " Poetry " .... ?!?
I've been quite ... AMAZED ... !!!
by the number who ... " Teach " ...
and then ... get on the stage ...
with ... NONSENSE RIDDEN SPEECH ... !!!!!
I Fear ... for our children ... !!!!!
If ... people who teach ...
write poetry suited ...
For .... " ADULT TV " ....
Expletives in poems
and ... " Vulgarity " ... !!!!!
YES ... I use it TOO ... !!!!!
But i'm ...
NOT PAID ... to teach ... !!!
It seem that ... " Some Teachers " ...
NEED ..... " Dictionaries " ......
Now .....
You may not agree ... !!!
But ...
How would you feel ... ?
If your child was ... " Reliant " ...
on people who ... " Read " ...
Poetry written ...
About A ... " Barbie " ... !?!
These are ... The People ...
who think they can ... " Teach " ... ?!?
No wonder our children ...
are now ... " Human Sheep " ... !!!!!
My Wordplay's .....
More ............. " Lucid " ............ !!!
But ...
Many take ... " Pride " ...
In Proving They're ... STUPID ... ?!?
So here's my ...
LAST Question ...
" Why Do People ... Do It ... ??? "
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
I'm a Barbie Girl,
in a Barbie World.
Life's fantastic: I
feel like plastic,
aiming for an eighteen-inch waist because I can afford to throw my internal organs away.
I feel like plastic,
having to choose
between eating and breathing with not enough space for two tubes.
I feel like plastic,
a thirty-nine inch bust and three times the forehead.
I feel like plastic,
a size nine squeezed to a three, spending
three to nine avoiding mealtime because my weight loss book says
'Don't eat.'
I'm a Barbie Girl,
in a Barbie World.
Life's fantastic, but...
I'm not plastic.
I've sat here listening while you complain about society but I don't think you realize that
society is made by you.
You complain about masks but you're masked by your poetry and
trust me,
it's trendy:
Psychiatry.
A bottle of capsules captures your soul and your dreams,
fading
reality.
I cannot be defined because a definition leaves no room for change and I
am a flame,
ready to burn the cardboard box of priority you put over me.
All the cool kids are lesbians and thespians on about repressions
and I care,
I do,
I mean... I'm standing here among you.
But words are just air.
You can stand on this stage and tell me I'm beautiful, but
I am more than my face so
disregard my mild distaste for your
inspirational speech.
Now, this...
This isn't a call for help.
This is a call to arms.
This
is a battle cry because
I
am sick of waiting for a future that should've happened yesterday.
So use this air to live the words you say and
rally.
Do not soothe, because we've already been cocooned by soothed reality in
Shawnee,
Johnson County.
I'm a real girl,
in a real world.
Life's fantastic, and I
refuse to be plastic,
aiming for generic weight range based on content, not scale number.
I refuse to be plastic,
a neck moulded perfectly for both eating and breathing so I don't have to choose.
I refuse to be plastic,
a bust that you don't need to be sizing
when I've got eyes
a green not of romanticized meadows but of drunken
puke.
I refuse to be plastic,
a size nine foot in a size nine shoe,
spending three to nine
enjoying my meal times,
because my weight loss book is
chucked down the chute.
I'm a living girl
in a beautiful world.
Life's fantastic,
because I'm not plastic.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC