No one wants a doll like you;

You've been sewn together too many times.

And they'll all tell you that you're pretty,

But they can see the cracks,

And they all know that you are hollow inside.

Fake would be an understatement;

In the rain, your colors melt and run like tears,

And you paint your face back on like it's okay.

You want more patches for the stitches

To feel the needle's lovely sting.

Dolls like you will be discarded

And replaced with something new—

Like doctor or pregnant Barbie—

Anything less breakable than you.