As the tiara cradles her soft hair
She lets it fall
Watches its diamonds smash on the floor
Too exhausted to pick up the pieces
She sits on her bed
With a tiny piece of glass
Wishing she was dead
Shes only sweet sixteen
But she never really got the 'sweet'
Only glares in the mirror
At the girl she had become
Not pretty enough
Her hair not being straight enough
Skin not clear enough
And the list goes on..
Christmas rolls around
Its a dead doll's christmas list
For Christmas I want
To be skinny
Can i see my ribs too?
And a prettier smile
Oh and to be beautiful
But no matter who she became
She hated herself all the same
And though she looked so pretty in photographs
That smile would never last
Past the flash
Past her critique
Past the girl
she wanted to be
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