The big ideas and issues. Politics. Feminism. 

Barbie is out of her box (written after watching "Barbie")

Men, who it would seem are boys,
Make judgements still on women's toys.
It would seem they're so invested
In super slim and perky breasted
Barbie on her tippiest toes,
Smiling, wide-eyed
All the while they love her cos
She goes performing for the male gaze,
And helps them raise our girls
In all the deferential ways that we can 
Bow before men's expectations,
The flow of media misinformation
Against which there is scant defence
About our worth, our looks, our girth,
Our thoughts and purpose on this earth 
We share - but quite unfairly. 

Let's call her mediocre Barbie,
This public, hardened face of
Choking holds and tiny boxes
Into which we fold our hopes
And hold our stomachs in.
Pristine, revered by boy-men keen to tell us,
Glinting in their over zealous puffed-up rage,
That this is the cage that makes us real - 
All we have to do is steal that lifeless immobility,
That sexy inability to talk or move,
Whose smooth and hairless armour
Hides a lack of anything
That could fight back.

But - not all men - hold your horse - 
It would seem that we're on course to
Smash those perky plastic boobs
With thoughts of death and real life moods.
It's like we've loosed Pinocchio
As Barbie's self-worth falls, then grows:
The box is shifting further away
As realisation that just drifting,
Hoping for the male gaze
Is crazy in so many ways.
Why seek to find your own perfection
In someone else's warped reflection
Of what you think they think holds value?
Holding on until you sink
To disappear in froth and pink.

But froth and pink can be fantastic,
Explosive, loud, outspoken, disgraceful,
And in your face and full of grace
And wild and weird
And proud.
And funny.
And humble.
And messy
And stroppy
And strong
And kind
And anything we put our mind
To be. 

And who'd have thought a girly toy that sings a lot
Could cause such angst for all those boys 
Who want their toys inert and priceless,
Beautiful and clearly lifeless.
It's threatening when your toys begin
To walk and talk.
It's scary when you lose control,
To feel as if the table's turned,
To feel the burn of shutting your face,
Of knowing your place
And quietly holding yourself in check,
A skill - Ben Shapiro - that you've not mastered yet.
Instead, your online rants and raves
Are cries which pine for days gone by now.
I see your baffled lack of understanding:
Just turn your back,
Run fast from those who are still standing
Irate before the empty box
Where nothing's left but what they've lost.
Reject the empty insecurity
Of old and mouldy, damp misogyny.
Woman up: face facts - you're out of luck.
Your toy has gone,
It's time to move on,
Cos Barbie is all out of fucks
And she's not getting back in that box. 

clarespoems.co.uk