happy birthday barbie

the pretty dolls seem broken to me
fragments of reality dressed in lacy clothes
that make many lust for them.
seldom advertised is what lies underneath
the tired joints, aching limbs, and
smiles fake but fabulous.

what are we teaching our future, our girls, our women?
"the world is okay, girls. forget the war.
heres a doll, dollface."
the special packaging screams, "we manufactured them just for you,"
as an inspiration perhaps?
using a formula that cannot be duplicated
like coca-cola
and too like the infamous carbonated sugar water
the pretty dolls tell lies.

in order to be cooler
smarter
prettier
wanted
you must follow my lead.
my designers have supplied me with this formula
that works. (how many times have we heard this before?)

so while little boys shoot guns and play golf
shaping their precious bodies and minds with sticks and balls
little girls fondle the pretty dolls, confused
dolls that dont age, learn, or die.
little girls, permanently enrolled in a program
perpetuated by magazines and movies
that claims to provide answers and alternatives
to questions that little girls are supposed to have...

supposed to have?

these questions are subtle, but devised
by the devious.
the pretty dolls have the answers
to questions that are manipulative and heartbreaking,
questions that only breed insecurities and paranoia
in our future, our girls, our women.
when we trip and fall
scraping our supposed to be shaven knees
the pretty dolls stand stiff, looking down
they cannot lend a hand
as we age and die, the pretty dolls
sit right where we last rendezvous'd
alone
so broken, so lost.
dolling out answers to questions I never asked her.

happy birthday barbie.
"youre one heck of a woman, dollface."