I'm not a Barbie doll,sitting in a card board box,
wires holding me into a single spot
until someone wants me.
My lips curve downwards,
my nails aren't pink.
I'm not thin, but healthy,
I am not always happy.
Yes, I wear black and I feel.
I'm not plastic,
cold, hard, empty plastic.
I am original.
I live, love, hate, grow
and, I even make mistakes.
I am not a blonde, pink-clad,
always happy, over-achiever,
who was born in a factory and lived in a box.
I still am when I am unwanted.
I roam the corners of the Internet
while my friends are at a movie,
keeping to myself in my room
music blaring into my ears.
I drink Peppermint Mocha Twists and
Double Chocolate Chip Frapachinos.
I am a quiet girl.
I love my friends and family.
I envy Barbie.
The straight-A, Harvard graduate,
soccer super-star,
can buy eternal happiness.
Her soul mate is 20 dollars,
while mine is years of pain, heartache, and tears.
She is everything I long to be,
while everything I hate.
I might envy the lucky, manufactured,
made in China, 1 of 1,000,000 girls.
But I don't want to be.
I am perfectly mistaken and perfectly wrong.
