Typed Music

Poems.

I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.

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17. Girl in the Mirror

She’s smart and she’s pretty
She’s set up for life
But insecure, pressured,
Imprisoned by strife.
She’s shattered inside
And she’s quick to swear
By a voice in her head
Promising her ‘fair’
She follows the words
And obeys all the rules
And hands herself over
To ‘Perfect’s’ crude tools

‘Perfect’ took your hands
Put them over your eyes,
Blocked out the truth
And then whispered you lies;
You were blind to the scandal,
Under your nose,
Of a girl who must fit into
Size 0 clothes.

Isn’t she beautiful?
Doesn’t she look great?
Teeth yellowed by vomit
That’s dragged up to lose weight.
When she speaks, see the bones,
Workings of a face;
She’s lost herself
In the ‘Perfect’ race.
You’re jealous of the gaps
Of her matchstick thighs,
How she’s tipped to win
Anorexia’s prize.

‘Perfect’ took your hands
Put them over your eyes,
Blocked out the truth
And then whispered you lies;
You were blind to the scandal,
Under your nose,
Of a girl who can fit into
Size 0 clothes.

Caged in by a bed,
The locked doors of the ward;
A place where the world’s
Hopeless cases are stored.
Chained to her monsters,
A tube in her throat;
A graveyard of bones
Wrapped up in a coat.
It was her plea for help
And you left her to die
While ‘perfect’ deafened
Your ears to the cry.

‘Perfect’ took your hands
Put them over your eyes,
Blocked out the truth
And then whispered you lies;
You were blind to the scandal,
Under your nose,
Of a girl who’s too small
For size 0 clothes.

A skeletal corpse,
A shell of that girl.
The empty pledges,
Devouring her world.
The targets are harder,
She still tries to please.
You still clamour after
The crests of her knees.
You still miss, somehow,
The whispers of death;
Idolise her body
‘til the very last breath.

There’s a girl in your mirror
Who doesn’t look right;
Her legs are ‘too fat’
And her jeans are ‘too tight.’
Don’t give ‘Perfect’ your hands,
Throw ‘Perfect’ away
Because it’s all ‘Perfect’s fault
At the end of the day.

 

 

I actually wrote this a long time ago - you can probably tell on account of how bad it is... I should really not try to make things rhyme.

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