How dare you.
You clipped her wings.
You gave her a distorted image.
You filled her mind with nonsense.
You are solely responsible for the mess that she’s in.
She screams every night fighting the demons of sleep.
Because she knows that if she closes her eyes all she’s going to do is drown.
She sings lullabies to herself.
Even though her voice is almost gone, taken away.
Unhappiness settles underneath her skin, seeping into her soul.
She screams to the known and unknown.
Is this what she was meant for?
No one can hear.
When she’s suffering.
When she’s scared.
When she’s broken.
They don’t even hear her when she’s happy.
They don’t seem to care.
The rest live in their own bubbles, living their lives.
While the confines of her room are her shelter, the only place that she can call home.
She doesn’t fight the tears anymore, at this point they seem mandatory.
Her tears become her trademark.
She walks into public places, head head high, with puffy eyes.
No one seems to know what’s wrong with her.
Or they don’t care enough to ask.
She just wants this to be over with.
All she wants is to be home.
To not care.
Because caring is her biggest sin.
She goes home.
She slams the door, holding her head in her hands.
At this point she can’t cry anymore.
She doesn’t have any more tears.
She stares at herself in the mirror.
At what she’s become.
And who does she have to thank?