Dolls

Dolls, dolls, dolls.
They all look the same to me.
Perfect body, skin, hair and nails.
What, I wonder, does the inside entail?

Nothing but fluff beyond the outer shell,
Intellect nonexistant, dull as hell.
The personality of a crumb of bread,
Nothing to offer other than quickies in bed.

Is this the standard to which I must aspire?
Am I to present myself thus, a whore for hire?

No! I have more depth, more spirit in my little toe
Than these stick figures have in their whole bodies,
Even though I'm aware that they are in more demand.

I'd rather stay on the shelf.