By Charlotte R.

 

When I grow

up I want to be, Barbie,

a carcass of shrunken plastic

fashionably ugly

deceivingly happy

anorexic (and a liar

with) skinny bones

sculpted from diet

 

and misery. Collarbones

and bowls and

stretched skin highlighting

neck strength

elbows that double as weapons

ribs that can be counted

two, four, six, sick

sharp

 

shoulders, sharp appetite

of nothing. Barbie,

a psycho skank

a starving corpse    

(feeding on boys)

 

making insides eat

insides

lungs collapse

nauseous,

 

hideously having control

over hunger, you want

to shrink when she’s seen

her nails weak, impairing her

from a fight, her toes

 

icicles curled up

within the shoes of

a whore, who

redefines ravenous

satisfaction

 

is fictional. She is

the devil,

the epitome of

perfection. Plastic shrinking

 

to a carcass – fashionably happy

deceivingly ugly, (Barbie

collects jealousy

 

and) impostered love (from

gullible imposters)

deluded, she’s not a psychotic corpse

 

starving skank (but she is)

a psycho skank

starving, starving

 

knuckles on the hands of a skeleton

have punched eyes, so

they sink

with sunken skin. She would

 

not

punch you, (unless

you asked) but you

already have nothing

 

of a body, divine

ribs cracking

two four six six

six shatter, snap.

 

(Insides, eat insides

but inside is empty,

cold and hungry

yet lovely)

 

She has already won, Barbie

beats us all

at the game of self destruction

 

she’s vulnerable, desired

beautiful and dying

(skinny).