Plastic Surgery

What if Barbie looked at Ken,
And asked him, "Do you think I'm thin?
Am I pretty enough for you?
Or do you think of others, too?"

Ken would say, "Of course not, dear."
His plastic smile from ear to ear.
"You are indeed my only doll,
We're made for eachother, don't you recall?"  

"But, Ken, I don't like what I see,
In the reflection that stares at me.
I see that my hair is going grey,
I'm growing old and fading away."

"My plastic is brittle, my limbs are weak.
Surely there's another girl you seek?
Another dolls' lips you'd like to smash?
I'm sure I belong deep down in the trash."

Though Ken consoles, it doesn't help.
Barbie falters in sense of self.
Starts skipping meals and throwing up,
Until her confidence at last erupts.

Barbie continues for weeks on end,
Her own self image starts to bend.
She feels her youth is slipping away,
Though she looks the same day after day.

Soon Barbie finally feels within,
She's tired of the body she is in.
She wants a slimmer waist, a bigger chest,
Until her body's a plastic mess.

While she is distracted and bereft,
Ken has packed up, distraught, and left.
It's the final blow to her weakened soul,
The bulimic monster has swallowed her whole.

Consumed by the thought of getting "fixed",
She visits a specialist to get her wish.
Nipped and tucked like the models she sees,
Edited like the pictures on her TV.

Her image is skewed, her face is pinched,
Surgeons fix her nose in a cinch.
Her "beauty" is built by needles and tape,
But, alas, she finds upon her wake.

She's still not pretty, not happy inside,
A part of her has surely died.
Her sanity crushed by sickening desire,
Dissatisfaction melts her soul like fire.

She's artificial, fake, and false,
A scrawny little plastic doll.
For into her heart the operation tore,
And in her mind, a single word;
More.