Little girls are barbie's,
little girls are sweet,
little girls are perfect,and taught to be neat.
Taught to be skinny, and pretty, and fair.
Taught to have beautiful, long locks of hair.
I once was little,
I once had a dress,
I never got it dirty, never made a mess.
Yet I was still ugly, and stupid, and wrong.
I never could write that one perfect song.
the pressure came crashing,
the urge to be sweet,
so I used my two fingers,
but always stayed neat.
Flushed down the drain, my daily meals,
and still only emptiness could I feel.
I wrote in a journal,
like I did long ago,
to escape from a prison, that I called a home.
I cried for some help, and called out for change,
I fought and I struggled to not binge again.
Sometimes it's lonely,
but never lose hope,
the world it is lying: a slippery slope.
For all of the barbie's,
who felt just like me,
keep writing your songs,
they may set you free.