The Academy Goes To...

"you're beautiful," so they

say. your eyes glow brighter than the setting sun in July, 

they swoon. they smile and trace your face and 

play with your hair, "pretty, pretty

girl," they tell you. skin so fair and cheeks so pink. "Darling, 

you could be a star."

perhaps in your own destruction because

they never see the purple

bruises under your lower lashes or the frown 

always at beck and call. you play make

believe despite the fact

that you're almost grown, pretending that

their cooing whispers are true. but you've

convinced yourself that they

lie to spite you because they don't see 

your body shake in the shower as you cry or notice the 

glinting white lines that decorate your 

body like your mothers fine jewelery. they don't see

the emptiness in your eyes, they don't know. but they couldn't

because you play pretend like you're making 

a salary out of a hobby. 

"pretty, pretty

girl," you smile as you put on your 

bracelets of red. 


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