She strives for perfection. She strives for attention. She strives for acceptance.
She is all she ever wanted to be; at least that is what she tells herself.
Why is she held to a higher standard?
Why are her actions always questioned?
She ponders regularly as to why they take note in her life,
almost as easily as they ignore the outcast.
She is a dreamer, a believer, and she speaks with pure eloquence.
But she is human.
She falls down, and they attack like vultures, anxiously waiting, watching to see how she will handle defeat.
They show no mercy, everything they have wanted to see crumble, is deteriorating within their proud, malicious hands.
They gawk with such deceit.
You’re supposed to be perfect, you know better.
They whisper among themselves,
guess she is not as superior as they believe her too be.
But the pain does not fade; it never does.
How do you maintain the expectations of others, when you know you cannot measure up?
Do you put on that act you know so well?
Smile, she tells herself, it will stop eventually.
She pictures a bigger world, although she is terrified of what is to come.
She yearns to speak out against them, she longs for them to find a new target,
to physically and mentally disappear.
They are always in her head.
They hate her, but they will never admit it.
They live to see her shatter, break, and collapse.
But she will not fall down; she will not shatter nor will she break.
She will stand strong, and fight.
They will not define her; they will build her up.
They will not win; she stands strong in those words.