I’m looking around my bedroom, and I realize that I’m outnumbered by Barbie dolls, from Swedish Barbie to Golf Date Barbie. You name it, most likely that Barbie is here somewhere. (I love you mom, but I think this collecting thing of yours is getting a little out of hand…) When I think about it, though, they’re kind of haunting me. They’re visions of what an ideal woman looks like wrapped-up in this beautiful package. Although they remind me of my heritage since many have an ethnic theme, the dolls represent something even more eerie: the fake person that I may be turning into. Anyway, here is a short poem I wrote that I would like to share with you. Again, I’m no poet or creative writing major. I just enjoy finding the words to match my strange ideas.
Purple Walls and White Dolls
Purple Walls and White Dolls
Found themselves bleeding
Hooking push-up bras
Cleaning off the acne.
Purple Walls and White Dolls
Blushing and turning away
From my flesh within his palms
They seem to say:
“Screw the label! Let me out!”
I’m in these Purple Walls with Blushing Dolls
In a news feed on your phone
I never knew it could be true
That I’m in this box alone.
Amanda Ridder 