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).