Look's fool

I'm a china, glass doll girl, people think I'll  break. 

 Problem is they don't know how much I've already had to take.   

And putting me on a shelf was never my idea of fun.  

Who said that being kinda pretty was amazing, the good life, a home run?  

I ask them why they do this, why do you act this way?  

Sometimes I'd rather that they punch me and bloody that stupid baby doll face.  

They say it's 'cuz I'm too nice  

it's 'cuz I never say fuck, shit, damn, and cuss,  

you're just too blonde and fair and kind to ever be one of us. 

And so I sit in a corner, alone, all by myself   

wishing that the walls could talk, because I'm as lonely as hell,  

I wish that I could slap them, get it through their great, big, thick heads 

that I'm not some display to be dusted, but a person to be reckoned with instead

But I won't because that's just not me,  I'm not the violent sort,

well, they can't say that I'm not being patient, (I hold back almost every cruel retort)

but I'm pretty sick of waiting,  for them to finally see 

the problem with being a good, good girl is that it was never me  

after years and years of waiting, I finally want them to realize who I am 

someone they could relate to, somone they didn't just wish they could be,

 that being sorta pretty is not all it's cracked up to be.








This poem is about: 
My community


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