I’m like a picture

All you see is the smile

But what you can’t see

Are the scars, the bruises, the thoughts,the disappointment of Miner One-Hundred-Forty-three

You don’t see the pain the regret. . .

But why fret to?

I mean, it’s what we humans do

Point out my flaws while you have flaws too

How your child games of names maims me

Then it came to me.

Why and try to talk, to vent,

when no one wants to listen.

Every piece of my heart is missing,

after giving each one away in the nice way.

Being thrown in Mine Sixteen

Just because I didn’t have the social bling.

Never to see the light up above

Just because I wanted to be loved.

Hide the reality of being lonely by keeping into fantasy

Where girls don’t have to be pretty, don’t have to be skinny

But can walk up there like the famous many

And yet those hopeful dreams

they keep coming to me

Where the outcasted mine children become kings

Instead of being dirty toy clowns

Being forced by personal ring masters, and mine generals to perform

To the scary popular horde

And we miners who wear our hearts on our sleeves

did the small anthem just to see

That if they saw our mining scars

Maybe, just maybe they’ll stop burning our cheeks

with their cruel words and cigars

But just re-join the dark reality of the society

of dream-broken,dirt-soaked,low-spoken girls and boys

who look for that golden beauty.