So, you think I’m your toy, little boy?
You want to pull my strings, compare me to other shiny things, toss me around with your careless ways, and throw me in the garbage after I’ve been broken, worn, and frayed?
Playing with my body, and toying with my mind, as if I were a monster truck and you were nine. I’d rather play chess, and blow your mind, but here we are circling this track, and wasting our time.
I can’t help but wonder if I looked like Barbie, would you then be my Ken? If I were the perfect shade of cherry red, would you pay closer attention?
Or, maybe it’s that, you’d tinker with me rather than toy, if you were an man instead of a boy.