(Photos courtesy of Part Angel, Part Woman, All Diva, The Official Group….)



He is mine, Caroline.

I know you think because you have

Red pig tails, you would take him away from me, but you forgot—I’m Barbie.

I’m a Barbie girl in his saxophone playing world.

I know you like to think you don’t stank, but I could smell those

Cholesterol drenched fries all the way to my home 5 miles away.

Caroline:  He’s mine.

You need a golden calculator to divide all the grams of

Cholesterol you’re not supposed to eat.


Unless of course you want a heart attack–Just playin.

I’m his heart beat, and he will put you in your place.

‘Cause real guys don’t go for your vanilla eyes.

When will you realize that I know you hate me as

Much as you hate eating your vegetables?

You’re a pathetic excuse for an insecure,

Middle aged round ram.

That’s what you are.

Too bad he didn’t care for your freckles or the

Careless way you insulted me

Never knowing I would find out why.

You still can’t believe he dumped your nalgas so fast for me.

He dropped you like KellyAnn Conway drops lies.

So you need a golden calculator to divide

All the grams of fate that made your

Nalgas think he would choose you over me.

No, he’s with me.

He wants me, only me.

Your nutritious diet is history.

And the story you will never get to keep.


‘Cause I’m a Barbie girl in his saxophone player world.

And he already invited me out for a ride.

Life is my creation.

I’m the writer, and you’re the other verb that

Was dropped on the floor,

Like the ex-girlfriend that drops the brides’ cake on purpose.

If you apply lipstick while driving,

You might just crash into a ditch.

Just playing.

Grab your golden calculator and split that

Concha in half, you know, the one you’re not

Supposed to be eating.

I saw the way you looked at me, so hatefully.

You can’t fool me.

He combs my hair.

Undress me everywhere,

‘Cause I’m the Barbie girl in his 90’s saxophone

Player world.

And we’re gonna go party.

So, go back to your cheeseburger shack, and

Take your softy freeze with you.

Vanilla flavored.

He wants more than just another vanilla bean.

Can’t you see?

It was never you.

It was always me.

You are not Becky with the good hair.


What do you think?

Written by Maria Ayala

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