Her body is too uncovered,
too exposed
for the nun habit placed onto her
through her teenage years.

Her brain runs too freely
with ideas and opinions too strong
for the straight long blonde wig
held upon her head to keep them in.

Her skin flows too boldly
with curves too curvy
and lines too straight
for the mannequin mold
in which she lives.

Her body hangs too heavily
and barely pulls down on the noose,
woven with strands of blonde conformity
and threads of a religious habit.
The mannequin mold falls--
shatters.

Her body is stained too pale
by a red sea
flowing then clotting
cut by shards of a once confining mold

Her mother too fragile
collapses, weeps, and
looks at her child.
Her child that she once harbored
and sheltered from storms and predators
now sways lifelessly
with a certain angle of her head.

Her father too strong
stands and stares
at the once playful child he loves.

Her guardian angel too caring
laces her in white lace lined with diamonds,
sets her sweet limp head on a pillow of dreams,
and bandages her cuts  in the heaven’s finest silk.

Her sleep now too free
startles her and she catapults to consciousness.

Her God too gracious
plays the video of her life.
She watches herself be torn apart, broken, and abandoned
by ruthless innocent people
inside mannequin molds lined with long blonde conformity.