Sta.sh
don’t you know how lucky you are?
sitting pretty in the corner of my imagination
rose-hued lips, milk and honey complexion;
my, such long hair you have— are those curls natural?
do your glasses slip down your perfect button nose?
and those eyelashes brush the glass when you blink?
oh, right— you don’t need glasses, your vision is perfect.
my, such clear skin you have— porcelain, like a doll's
and oh, i could write a symphony about your eyes
and how they sparkle— they must be cut from stars.
my, how thin you are— i heard nothing tastes like skinny feels.
i wonder how it feels to be so light.
what? you say you don’t feel light? that you feel heavy, like something is weighing you down?
chip up, darling. you wear an invisible crown—
and if you let it tip, then your world will fall down.
sad? don’t be. you’re pretty.
what? you say that darkness is making your chest cave in?
smile, smile. pretend
no one will know. you’re pretty, you’re pretty,
carve it into your skin
if it makes you feel better.
be a magpie and eat up their sorrows and jealousy,
get sick on the obsequious words, they sing
“she’s so perfect.“
be a sponge, and soak up their compliments,
until they mean nothing.
everyone loves you.
be a mirror, and show people the best of themselves
even if you're at your lowest.
because everyone loves looking at a pretty picture,
even if the lens is cracked.
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its awful, but don't let it get you down!