Look at that girl,
just into her teens
yet so close to being an adult.
You see innocence,
you see sweetness,
confidence,
the image she paints for the world to see.
But she is no longer innocent,
oh no
that was taken by a boy
who whispered sweet things to her in the dark.
No longer sweet,
she put her trust
in people who didn't deserve it.
Those people tore her apart,
piece by piece,
leaving her with open wounds
that she covered with that smile she's known for.
The confidence she walks with
is just a show.
Her lunch will be forced back up
when she gets home.
Her knees are bruised
from kneeling on the ground to get rid of her meals.
Not happy even when the ladder of her ribs
scrape her elbow.
She still isn't as thin as the girls in the magazines.
She layers on makeup every morning,
her skin never as perfect as other girls.
Maybe if her skin was perfect he would've chosen her.
Maybe if she was skinnier he would've chosen her.
Maybe if she hadn't been so sweet she would've never believed him.
She's her worst critic, not able to see what everyone else sees,
unable to see herself.
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