Her
She is her,
The little one whom smiles like the sun,
Once for none,
Can you not see it,
The shell casing her true self in,
One mind hidden in tear washed ice,
Another fake and undeserving,
Her true concisions
Hidden behind bubble gum hair and cherry lips,
Eyes that seem to be gems set into her face shine moist with spilt tears,
For the butterfly lying on the sidewalk,
She giggles when jokes are not funny,
She smiles when she is dieing inside,
She cries when she feels no sorrow
Others do not see it,
All they see is her mask,
The mask that smiles like the sun,
The mask that has no holes for her eyes and no place to hear,
The mask that is truly her cage,
Hands that once knew her reach for the mask,
Try to rip it of and hide it from her,
She screams in pain and shields her eyes,
The world she was trying to hide from revealed to her,
Blood seeps from her eyes,
Hidden by tears,
She stopped laughing like a child at jokes that where not funny,
She can no longer smile like the sun,
Her bubble gum hair is dramatically ripped out and held in place with gel,
Her cherry lips covered in paint and gloss,
Artificial beauty flashes from her eyes,
The gems no longer shine with moist tears,
When she cries it is for a photo shoot,
She eats less so her once sweetly pudgy cheeks sink in to her face,
Her ribs poke seemingly through her flesh,
She no longer smiles but frowns,
Knowing the injections in her forehead with stop the wrinkles,
She learns how to elude death till she wants it,
And she does,
People try to help her,
Try to love her,
Hold her hands and pretends to feel sorry for her because she is leaving,
She knows,
And maybe,
If the hand and lips had been real she could tell you this herself.