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Little Girl, in your pretty red and white sundress,
Sitting Indian-style before your perfect plastic summer villa
located in Madrid.
I stare as you live out your parents' fantasies with your
sun-kissed hero,
adorned by his heroine, you
lovingly hold them up for me.
"See, Anya. See my best-est Barbie and Ken?"
Yes, Barbie and Ken. Who, unlike parents,
are too perfect to ever
think about fighting over the insurance payment,
due last week, on their perfect plastic dream sports car.
Little Girl, you look up at me with that eager little smile,
You proudly show me the
bride and the groom dressed in their perfect 'apricot-bonnet'
wedding attire.
I am amazed at how happy it makes you to prepare them for their
'big day,'
You hum as you brush out
Barbie's long blonde hair.
You have the bridegroom stashed under your bed, conveniently
far, far away.
Everything is perfect I must agree, save one thing,
Dear Little Girl, you forgot about the signing of the prenuptial
contract.
You forgot to specify who gets to keep the perfect miniature
dream house when you are no longer there intervene.
How ignorant Barbie and Ken are of throbbing, stressful
headaches,
Of lying in bed alone, scared, and wondering what the hell they
are supposed to grow up and be.
I want so much to join you and play those mindless perfect games
again.
How I want my Babies back,
so I could truly believe in Barbie when she says to Ken,
"This is true love, Baby. As long as we are together, I'll
love only you till the very end."
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My first life-long inspiration was born of a childhood collection of unicorns.
The simplicity of this myth (if you don't know) is pure and true love.
The creator of this beautiful, idyllic myth was actually a wise and realistic man.
He knew that in nature, there can be no good without evil, so he was forced to embed
a gut-wrenching curse in the symbol. His last project complete and his soul at peace,
he died before he could forewarn anyone of the bitter seed he'd planted.
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Daily I would stare at my collection of unicorns. They made my heart hum, and, over
the years, I came to know the creator's secret. It was so obvious to me at that point,
I couldn't believe it took me so long to realize it.
Unicorns are disappearing. And, as they disappear, the concept of true love, pure love
in society is exterminated little by little. And here's the worker... when the unicorns
are all gone, true and pure love will be lost forever.
In my short life, I have seen them disappear from toy catalogs, movies, children's tales
and even low-budget fantasy stickers. I myself, in a fit of teenage angst egged on by the
pain of love rebuffed smashed my own unicorn collection, all but one. She is like the one
in the movie The Last Unicorn; she is my totem. As her protector I had an actual reason
not to kill myself. She is a reason for me to continue and she will not be lost on my watch.
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Despite my poetic and frequently pessimistic
observations of how ridiculous the expectations of love
being programmed into young girls heads are...
I never stopped believing that I would one day fall
head-over-heels in love.
So I learned to love patiently, passionately and platonically the artists that inspired me
and the few people who were brave enough to be my friends. The intensity of my affection for
others not only sexually confused some of them, but drove away from me the most important
person in my life at one time. His hurt departure exposed within me a vital weakness of
character: my love until that point was true, but too selfish to be pure.
The damage could not be undone. However, I did change; and, as my true suitors started to arrive
I had learned to love with such unselfish glory that my affections did shatter those who by
loving me came to find themselves of lesser charachter.
But I knew there would be one out there, whose life would begin, not end when he heard the
beacon of my siren's call.
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