Dress up doll

My body’s a dress up doll 

My soul an accessory

Just another copy, free for all

Wouldn’t last a century

And it keeps aching and breaking

Plastic legs mistakenly shaking

It’s painstaking

Pretty dresses and rings of silver

Dirty messes, but appearance filtered

Wear a name, feel the shame

Of children at work

It’s all the same, moth to flame

Tell some mischievous clerk

But my doll parts are breaking

The joints are getting old

Would you love me less?

Without my locks of gold?

This doll can’t play that game

The endless trips to the mall

Buy myself some soul, a name

Before these joints crawl the floor.

“Did you know I tried? All the diets and all the beauty products? I got dolled up every morning, I looked as perfect as I could. I exuded carefully curated effortlessness, but I still wasn’t as happy as the girls on Instagram. Or beautiful. If beauty was currency for happiness, was I just not pretty enough or did I deeply misunderstand something?”