Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her sonnets and other poetry have been featured in Anti-Heroin Chic, Murmur Journal, Occulum, Faded Out, Moonchild Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Fourth & Sycamore, Varnish Journal and many other publications. She’s currently constructing a poetry dollhouse chapbook entitled Pink Plastic House: Three Stories of Sonnets.


I’m baptized with my babydoll. I grow
but change not much at all. A ribbon in
synthetic hair, two blinky eyes follow
me everywhere — a mother pretend.

Barbie-brainwashed by picture tube. I feel
them up before I blossom boobs. Their thighs
so slick, I memorize. Sapphic, surreal,
vinyl eyes, adolescent alibis.

A dorm delivered living doll, my first
attempt, no alcohol. Long curly hair
and thigh high socks. Concerns of college/church
cast out, when our door locks, with underwear.

The shame, with age, a thing I just recall.
It is no phase, this love of babydolls.

One thought on “Babydoll

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