A beauty queen, in a pretty dress,
With a big smile on her face,
Walks down the runway,
Pausing to pose at all the flashing cameras.
She turns around and struts backstage..
Where she grabs her only escape,
The one she uses everyday..
The pain of being perfect,
The pain of being good enough,
She takes it all out on herself. Suddenly lines of red are on her arms,
And she gets her makeup.
She looks into the mirror and sees,
She puts her makeup on,
And cover up for her cuts,
And then struts back out,
Hiding her pain yet again.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.