A Beautiful Lie
When she was five, she wore pink frilly dresses.
She let her mother tie her brown hair with ribbons.
Her eyes shined a brillant green.
She was really happy.
A smile lit up her small face.
She felt like she had a place.
When she was twelve, she liked jeans and tees.
She liked her brown hair in a low ponytail.
Her eyes still shined a bright green.
She wasn't as happy.
A tear fell every now and then.
She enjoyed the happy moments.
When she was fourteen, she wore skinnies and band tees.
She cut her hair short and dyed it blue.
Her eyes had streaks of silver in them.
She was rarely happy.
A word barely left her lips.
She wanted someone to care.
When she was sixteen, she went with what society wanted in fashion
She let her hair grow back out and she bleached it blond.
Her eyes were blue colored contacts
She hated her life.
Everything was to make someone happy.
She had never felt so alone.
When she was twenty, she barely covered her skin with clothes.
She left her hair a mess and her roots were showing.
Her eyes were lifeless and grey.
She was surprised she was still alive.
Everyone walked all over her.
She wanted to die.
When she was twenty two, she was dressed in black lace.
She let it turn brown once again and it was brushed neatly.
Her eyes were closed.
She was ice cold.
Silence filled the air of the parlor.
She was dead.
She let her mother tie her brown hair with ribbons.
Her eyes shined a brillant green.
She was really happy.
A smile lit up her small face.
She felt like she had a place.
When she was twelve, she liked jeans and tees.
She liked her brown hair in a low ponytail.
Her eyes still shined a bright green.
She wasn't as happy.
A tear fell every now and then.
She enjoyed the happy moments.
When she was fourteen, she wore skinnies and band tees.
She cut her hair short and dyed it blue.
Her eyes had streaks of silver in them.
She was rarely happy.
A word barely left her lips.
She wanted someone to care.
When she was sixteen, she went with what society wanted in fashion
She let her hair grow back out and she bleached it blond.
Her eyes were blue colored contacts
She hated her life.
Everything was to make someone happy.
She had never felt so alone.
When she was twenty, she barely covered her skin with clothes.
She left her hair a mess and her roots were showing.
Her eyes were lifeless and grey.
She was surprised she was still alive.
Everyone walked all over her.
She wanted to die.
When she was twenty two, she was dressed in black lace.
She let it turn brown once again and it was brushed neatly.
Her eyes were closed.
She was ice cold.
Silence filled the air of the parlor.
She was dead.
♠ ♠ ♠
So, scrolling through Facebook resulted in this little mess. I've noticed lately that one girl that I'm friends with has been changing more and more by the day. She increases on the amount of makeup she wears, she's gotten extensions, and she's dressing more like she's trying to fit in with everyone else. I base this off of society and how it pretty much kills nowadays. If you don't fit in you're either a freak or a nobody. I hate the fact that the world is turning into something like this, so I felt the need to put this message across.
Enjoy.