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She climbed to the top of the tree.
A cut on her hand and a bruise on her knee.

Her dad was smiling, always happy.
Laughed at jokes, no matter how crappy.

Her mother perfect in all.
her blush and perfume made her a doll.

Percisly plastic. It's in her blood.
If she could change her life,
She certainly would.

The moon looks down, eyes full of sad.
The pity she feels angers her. Boils her blood
till mad.

The tears drip down like a rain shower.
Falling down.. Making her feel trapped
Her body a tower.

The silver of her razor glitters in the
beams of the pityful moon.
And she knows, blissful pain is
promissed soon.

Her skin redddens in protest,
as the razor glides over a vein the closest.
Just like the tear the blood drips down.
Coating and covering the once green

The wounds scream her secreat.
Even though she always planned to keep it.
The braclets and bangels hide the truth.
The truth that mom has broken bones and chipped a tooth.
The truth that dad never smiles at her, makes her worthless.
The truth that she hates herself. She's completly useless.

She climbes down the tree, cut on her hand
and bruise on her knee.

And maybe more scars then the eye can ever see.
a poem about a 'perfect' girl and her secreats
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Submitted on
July 3, 2012
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