You're delicate.

Fragile, b-r-e-a-kable.

Made of porcelain.

And you hate it,

in a way.

But you love it,

in a way.

Because no one, no one

can touch you.

...

You're one of those.

One of those who's always

the best at, well...

everything.

And you know it.

You're pretty,

beautiful, stunning, gorgeous.

You've been called it all.

You been called

other things, too.

Harsh, nasty, ugly words.

(Bitch, slut, whore)

The names, the insults -

They aren't true.

(They're not, they're not.)

Keeping saying it and

you might believe it.

So you just shrug it off and

smile, smile, smile

your painted on smile.

(Well, what else are you supposed to do?)

...

You might be beautiful,

but you're b-r-o-k-e-n.

(Like a china doll with

a chip in it's smile.)

And right now you'd give

-anything- to be ugly,

but whole.

You're just a china doll.

Perfectly poised and ready to

c-r-r-r-rack.

And you're just there to look pretty.


I'm sorry I'm such a awful person. I update like once a month, and I'm REALLY trying to fix that. But, poetry, for me, is mostly inspiration, And if I don't have inspiration I'm not going to publish less than my best. I hope you all understand.

Anyways, I hope you all liked this one, 'cause I did. It a little more bolded and underlined than my usual style but I felt like it works. It's Victoire, by the way.

Reviews make me smile, smile, smile!