• I knew a pretty girl
    Who couldn’t see her own face,
    the magnitude of her grace,
    or, perhaps she didn’t want to,
    But the boys did.

    I knew a pretty girl
    Who had a mirror that lied.
    It choked and it spat out
    just what she despised:
    The noise.
    The screech.
    The howl
    of intolerable imperfection.
    Not worthy of love,
    She had no face.
    The boys saw that, too.

    The emptiness of her eyes
    simply reflected the lips that
    grasped her neck.
    The anonymous hands
    at her hips
    Drove her train of thought to a wreck.
    Derailed.

    I knew a pretty girl
    Who drank poison
    and told herself it was water
    And she would grow tall,
    Break free-
    Not be chained to the wall.
    The boys watched her fall.

    Images of faces
    taped to the ceiling,
    covering the wall
    Sent her mind reeling
    as she lied, sprawled
    upon the floor-
    A lamb to the slaughter.
    They came one by one
    and swallowed her.

    I knew a pretty girl,
    but a portion of her died
    with every boy she pushed inside.
    And soon she was emptied.
    Some saw eyes that gleamed;
    I saw past, into chasms
    devoid of dreams,
    save but one:
    The tighter her skin
    grasped her bones,
    the closer she grew to being
    good enough.
    Worthy of love.

    With every purge, she would empty herself
    a little more.
    Now shallow,
    soon hollow
    Perhaps that was what
    she was aiming for.
    She was digging to her core.

    I knew a pretty girl
    who thought she’d found love.
    Her heart was too calloused;
    she couldn’t tell the difference.
    Those three words
    that should mean the world
    meant nothing to them.
    No…less than nothing.
    She was just a girl.
    Just a body to use.
    Just a soul to abuse.
    And she trusted them.

    I knew a pretty girl
    who never knew truth.
    The boys fed her lies.
    Soon, she forgot how to cry.

    I knew a pretty girl;
    She did not.