No one would rescue The Girl and she knew it.
There was no knight in shining armour to recuse her from her tower of hopelessness.
She didn't want to play the damsel in distress.
So she decided to write.
She wrote a story of a girl much like the one she told The Physiatrist about, except she wasn't so broken.
She was strong and fearless.
She was beautiful without a fault.
She was completely
and utterly
unrealistic.
The Girl in all her flaws dreamt of being this girl.
An army of the fake in a plight of perfection.
If only the girl had taken the time to find out what Photoshop is, then maybe her thoughts may not be so deluded.
Then maybe she wouldn't dream of small waists and blonde hair.
YOU ARE READING
Untitled
Poetry"She is that one extra school book you always buy but never use. She is that song you always skip on your favourite bands CD, there's always one. She is the clouds in the sky, so common they are dismissed. She is the dead flies on a logger...
