Barbie Beauty Head

My hands are tired from being held up for so long, and I yearn to let them finally rest. However, as much as I want to, I can't. They are petrified in one position and one position only. Like my hands, my face has only one expression that I must show no matter what I am feeling. It is an expression I did not choose; someone else chose it for me and painted it on my face. My face is identical to many others and there is nothing that separates us from one another. I don't want to be like every other. I want to be my person, myself. My hair is combed by hands that are not mine. I feel as if the hands of those who dress me up are teasing me because they can move and I can't. I can only move my neck and arms from side to side, but not by myself. Oh, how I wish I could move when I want to, independently, freely. But no, I remain frozen in time until someone pushes me, and I docilely bend at their will. There is no escape from this life. This is my life, the life of a Barbie Beauty Head.