I’m porcelain, with my eyes painted blue and a wide smile
My skin, so flawless you want to be me, even just for a while
My tiny hands, so delicate, you look but do not touch
You hardly notice the chip of paint, although it isn’t much

My dress is golden, like fine silk, a crafters hand endured
The stitching, the beads, so tightly strung, it’s safely all secured
My shoes are made of the finest wood, with a finish of white enamel
The aluminum stand I am placed on keeps me in line like a trammel
My hair so golden, just like the sun, in curls down to my waist
A hat is placed atop my head, with flowers so evenly spaced
My jewels are pearls, so evenly strung, a masterpiece in itself
The picture perfect fantasy, just waiting to be put upon a shelf
Under the dress are tiny scars from when I’ve tried to move
Everything about me is fake; everything on me can be removed
I am kept here against my will, but I will never break my stance
You look up to me so much, as if I’m your only chance
What you need to realize, what everyone needs to see
The image you look up to is not someone you want to be