The skeleton of a girl,
Walked, like a puppet,
Tied to strings, taught,
Hanging over head,
Being pulled by the master
Ringleader, to his media parade.
Her bones jut out,
Her eyes plucked out,
The costume hangs from her limbs,
The beautiful fabric
Took all the beauty from her soul.
The skeleton of a girl,
Walking down the aisle,
Her legs, like broomsticks,
Perform a task, robotically.
She sells beauty, though not
Her own, to the crowd,
Constantly taking note,
Critiquing what she doesn’t have.
The skeleton of a girl,
Void of her beauty,
The hollow shell,
Like a mannequin,
Is only meant to hold up her clothes.