Limited Time Offer

c. Nov. 2015

I am a collectable. 

My smile is a little bit lopsided,

all of my outfits come

with an abundance of unnecessary jewelry,

and my eyes are almost

too green to be real.

My posture

Is less than ideal,

My hands and feet and torso

Do not fit the proportions

Of my legs,

And my tanned skin

Hides 18 years of freckles

And bad decisions.

 

I am a young woman

Of the twenty-first century,

Meaning I can speak my mind freely

And in any context

But will most likely settle

For an afternoon inside,

Listening to alternative music

And writing about things and people

I can never have

Because I was raised to shoot for the moon

And then settle for landing

Amongst the stars.

My hobbies include

Barely breathing to the point

You think I might be a statue,

Not speaking in public contexts,

And most likely not speaking at all

Because nothing I say means anything unless

I say it in person.

And I am too much of a doll to do that.

 

I can be defined by my clothes.

But I choose to be defined

By so much more than that.

I’m not a bottle blonde

Who tells you anything and everything

You could ever want to hear,

But I choose

To be the person you can open up to.

The one who keeps all

Of your very secret secrets.

I am a reader,

Part of the Landmark Edition

Of our society,

A young woman who would rather

Be happy

With who she is

Than to live up to the unrealistic expectations

Of her childhood toys.

 

I am snarky.

Every word that falls from my tongue

Is laced with poison

That I never intended to be there

But I make up

For my sass with genuine interest

And sincere care

For anyone who has captured my heart.

I am made of more

Than plastic and

Impossible standards;

I am made of a resolve to live

And a passion for helping others.

I could weave my words

Into insults that

Cut deeper than the barcodes

Engraved in my arm,

But I choose to listen to

People who would otherwise

Go unheard.

 

I’m a rare addition to your collection of

Barbie dolls and China sets,

The pink label key to unlocking

What the modern era

Has in store.

And yet you say I’m not perfect

As if it’s supposed to degrade me more

Than your collection of

Pure hearts already does.

Your goal

Is to collect them all,

But my heart and my imperfections

Aren’t for you

To show off in your

Display case of broken dreams

And trophy wives.

 

I am a collectable.

If you really knew me,

You’d know how my real smile

Is lopsided

And I wear my heart on my sleeve

In order to hide the barcode

From collectors like you.

You would know the golden tint

That filled my hair

In the blazing Texas summer

And you’d know the way

My head tilted

When I was really paying attention.

You’d know the language

That escapes my lips

And how I constantly worry

About my closest friends.

 

I am not an era

For you to add to your collection

Nor a piece for whatever game

you’re playing with my kind.

Watch as my mouth never moves,

But my words

Speak volumes to how much I could be worth.

My barcode faded as my

Self-worth grew

And my price tag is not for you to

Draw.