Friday, November 23, 2012

The toy box.

 I'm a Barbie doll with a curious owner, limbs ripped from sockets just to test what happens. My limbs do not belong to my body, and I search for ways to get rid of them, staring at my arms in disgust. I am a "Hairdresser Barbie"; craft scissors and Tuesday afternoon boredom resulting in a terrible transformation, verging on manic. I am unable to stop the blades of change snipping my favourite traits and leaving those which scare my friends and frustrate my family. I am a ventriloquist doll, words planted in my head and mouth like rotten pumpkin seeds..."I am calm and in control of my body", "my day was good thanks, how about you?". I'm constantly told how to think and feel in the "right" way; but I am a poorly crafted doll and you can just make out the cords which control my feeble arms and legs and the king's mouth moves as mine does. I am a game of hide and seek, bring us all together and watch me flee! To the smallest space I run: under desks, alcoves, toilet cubicles and doona covers. If no one can see me, maybe I'll disappear? I'm a China doll; don't drop me, I'll shatter. Don't play with me, I'll break. Just watch my hand painted smile and lashes until you almost believe I'm real.