The jury’s out

Cold, stone-like faces with eyes like marbles

And lip-gloss smiles under fake eyelashes

And a book of labels for everyone

Slag or frigid

Nerd or stupid

Fat or anorexic

Black, white, gay, weirdo, loser

Not good enough or one of those girls

And they try to pin me down

To one of their glossy catalog pages

“Choose a category, darling

Who do you want to be seen as?”

Well, Your Honour, in my defense…

(Please, put down your iPhone, you’ll text your bf later,

I’m talking now) I would like to say

That you look very pretty – like a Barbie doll

And I know Barbies are what you aim for

So feel free to take it as a compliment

But I wouldn’t

You see, my hair’s not blonde

And I couldn’t care less about what brand my shoes are

I don’t like caviar and I don’t drink champagne often

I don’t see what’s wrong with a glass of whisky, really

I can’t spend 400 on a Thursday dinner

Let alone describe it in detail to anyone who would listen

I’m sorry, your world doesn’t fit me

I think I should go find another one

A smile of sympathy, exchanged looks

With the other Barbies, suppressed laughter

“Don’t worry, darling, we have other pages”

And she shows me the labels

Her fine manicured nails shine in the light

And I try to hide my hands in my pockets

But the spotlight is on (not that I mind it)

And they check me out – and they talk

Their voices like sandpaper, eyes like laserpoints

“She gets around, I’ve heard stories”

“Not really, she’s so clueless sometimes”

“She doesn’t like One Direction – what’s wrong with her?”

“And really, did you see that top of hers last night?”

And this is when I realize the jury’s not competent

Unless the subject is cars or brands

Or calories or X-factor stars or supposedly fit

Sparkly vampires that don’t drink blood

I’m tired

They talk and they talk and they talk

And I’m waiting for their decision

“Not good enough, not pretty enough, not normal”

Bugger off, normal people are boring

I’m taking your gavel, Your Honour, I’ll decide for myself

“You don’t know the real world!” she says

Yeah, I might not

But I like to crash on my best friend’s couch sometimes

Without being called names for spending the night at his place

Which wouldn’t have been so annoying

Had he not slept in his room

Just to compare, you can’t sleep if your sheets aren’t pretty

And yeah I’m genuinely bored

When you start talking about how many calories you burnt

Good for you, why should I care again

And yeah I’m really weird sometimes

Most of the time, and I’m proud of it

And more often than not I don’t behave like a lady –

You put the label on me with a cardboard smile on your lips

But I’ll be different tomorrow and the day after

Don’t think you know me

From that word you tattooed across my forehead

You show me the way – “Join your group, darling”

And you’re trying to built an army of clones

Of pretty Barbie dolls and Stepford smilers

The court closes – saved by the bell…