There comes a time when girls grow up,

When they drop their toys and pick up make up.

It’s a time to say good bye to their dolls,

And run with their friends around malls.

But before I stuff my Barbie away,

I want to reflect on how I played,

She wasn’t just a toy with hair,

She was a person, I believed her name was Clare.

Clare was the most incredible fabrication

And it was all because of my imagination.

She wore a new outfit every day,

And her golden hair was well, craft scissor cut by nine year old me—but I liked her that way.

In the control of my hand she traveled the world,

And turned into a princess who danced and twirled.

She fell in love with a boy named Ken,

And some how had twenty children.

Some days she was poor as a maid,

And some days she was lavish and pretty well paid.

Clare got facials done in crayon,

And was once left in the road for cars to roll on.

But outside of her travels and trips,

There were nights where she slept with me for a bit.

She was my favorite Barbie, compared to the rest,

Allowing me to imagine stories to write to impress.

I hope one day I will be an author,

And some of my stories will come from her.

So as I put you away in this plastic box,

I want to say thank you Barbie, Clare, thanks a lot.