I was little when I was given
My only Barbie Doll.
Though I smiled a thank-you,
I didn't like her at all.
Her joints were stiff and squeaky,
Her eyes were pale and cold.
Her hair was almost silver,
As though she was quite old.
I played with her for a few days,
Just because I thought I should.
Washed her hair, and cut it off;
Then left her for good.
Spent my days exploring
The far end of the lane.
Befriended a vagabond dog,
Got caught outside in the rain.
Years passed by and a few days back,
I was clearing out my room.
When in a forgotten cabinet-corner,
Shrouded by dust and gloom,
I found my abandoned Barbie Doll,
Sitting very upright,
Staring straight into my face-
It gave me quite a fright.
Her face was streaked with grime,
And her dress was stained with damp.
Still she laughed her frozen laughter,
Like a delirious princess tramp.
I winced at the colourless clumps
Of fuzz on her shaven head.
But worst of all were her eyes-
Though once they seemed completely dead,
They looked at me now as if to say:
'Well, this is what you've done.
If I couldn't make you happy,
My life certainly hasn't been fun.'
Whenever I think of throwing her out
I feel her eyes on me.
I stiffen with a pang of guilt,
Wondering what they see.
At each attempt to touch her,
I shudder and withdraw;
For the cold gleam of ice in her glare,
Never seems to thaw.
My parents think I'm sentimental
As Barbie's still here today.
Annoying for a practical girl like me,
But I guess it's safer that way.