Barefoot Through the Glass

Have you seen her lately?
She’s falling apart at last.
She's striding through the thorn bush,
Walking barefoot through the glass.

Did you care to hear her story?
Now her skin is nice raw.
She hates the way she looks,
With every scratch; with every flaw.

You’re tearing her down purposely?
Well tell me what you gain.
Her seasons never vary,
Through the sunshine; through the rain.

Does it make you feel good?
That you rate her by her looks?
You always judge by content,
not the cover of the books.