Girl
is
born in a ball gown
hits sixteen, and falls in love
with the idea of being in love.
Hits seventeen, and out of anger,
hits it again.
Refuses to be that princess.
(Seventeen always hits back)
No man knows
that girls, made of diamond,
refuse to be broken.
Diamond looks like glass, but
it takes one to cut one.
Girl learns to make molehills
out of mountains.
And then to wear them beaded around her neck.
Girl is force fed perfection
(like she isn’t broken)
Then, girl
rips that ballgown.
(Girl tries to climb back in
after the first time someone breaks her heart)
All the same,
our pain,
it’s all the same.
Nobody is pretty, nobody is blue eyed or busty
enough
To get out of this alive.
Girl wishes she was dumber.
Girl wishes she knew how to say no before the first time she was thumbed
like a cheap paperback.
Girl knows she was built in a factory
that breathes black smoke,
and Oh how she waits to taste it again.
Oh to be dumber, to
do dumber.
To wear her old ball gown
rip off cheap beads,
flash
her own scars
instead of holding others’.
Oh to be more alive,
to have blood in our veins
not just ink.
