This girl has it all mapped out, to the last detail:
An atlas filled with empty routes
That she knows by heart.
She drew them herself, traced each one carefully;
Precise, controlled, perfect.
This girl taught herself precision,
She taught herself control.
Enveloped in a sea of the perfection she created,
She convinced herself she was floating -not drowning.
This girl would have run every route in her atlas before admitting
She's lost.
They all watched, their heads perfectly above the water,
And she smiled, because she's fine, really, she's doing so much better
Promising them she knows how to stop
While promising her reflection she knows how to keep going.
This girl has something they don't see -she's invincible.
Strong, not sick.
Her bones push against her skin, screaming to be seen.
She would have burned every bone in her body before admitting
She's cold.
She blinded herself, head in her flawless, weightless clouds,
Refusing to see that her blue sea of perfection was turning black,
And slowly, so slowly, swallowing her.
This girl curls up into bed and shivers under a thousand blankets.
She dreams of warmth and hot chocolate and laughter
And days when things were better.
Icicles prick her skin and rain floods her eyes, because the truth is
She hates this game
But she'll die trying to win it.
She wrote the rules herself, the only game she knows how to play
And she'll play it
Every minute
Of every hour
Of every day
Ignoring that tiny voice that whispers-wonders
If she could ever let herself change.
So she holds on so tightly that her fingernails carve scars into her palms
Because she's terrified of letting go.
