There was a girl that I knew.
She was beautiful and strong; but frail and weak.
She was loved and kind; but hated and cruel.
She was lower than low, but always higher than high.
There was something about the dark powdered eyes, caked on from the “late last night” of the past where she wasn’t home for days at a time.
She laughed all day and cried all night.
She smoked all day and drove all night.
She tried all day and died each night.
There was something about the way she smiled, so believable until you saw the pain behind her eyes and couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking.
Was she dreaming about her funeral again?
Who would show up and who would cry?
Was she listing all the things about herself she hates?
Who could ever show up for someone like her?
So scared, completely helpless, refusing any consultation and all consolation.
She knew she wasn’t pretty, she knew she wasn’t smart
She knew she could destroy them, she knew how to play her part.
There is a girl I know.
She still dreams of funerals.
She wishes she was frail.
She layers makeup on her face to help hide a smile so broken you can’t help but know she’s listing all the things she misses about the girl she used to be.
That girl who laughed all day.
That girl who drove all night.
That girl who smoked all day.
That girl who died each night.
What she wouldn’t give to be that numb again.
To be that strong.
What she wouldn’t give to feel alive.
Because she was me.
Will be me.
And I miss the me I used to be.