Fourteen Below

One,

So small and sweet.

Just one,

Joyous and petite.

The soft rift of skins

Coils the virgin of sin

In bundles of touchable

Bundle of joy.

No hopes,

No dreams,

No midnight terrors

Ending in screams.

Just one;

So small and sweet.

One,

Joyous and petite.

She's five,

Spunky and smart.

Now five,

Her joy through her art.

A smile crosses her face

Which clears the earth

Of its' ill-will.

She, a bundle of joy.

Hopes for shine,

Dreams of dance,

Not crying,

But singing with a prance.

She's five;

So small and sweet.

Five,

Joyous and petite.

Now seven,

Strangely scared,

Seven,

Through dance she flared.

Girls are oddly sweet,

Their eyes so pretty

And their hair so neat.

She,

suddenly scared

Of silly silence and sentiments

Which shouldn't be her own.

She, holding onto joy.

Hopes for friends,

Dreams of health,

No bloody legs cut with

Sorrowed filth.

Now Seven;

Not so small but sweet.

Seven,

Not so joyous and petite.

Eleven,

She quivers and shakes,

She's eleven,

Her young soul starts to break.

Shhh,

Girls can't know

They're succulent and sweet,

Their eyes so pretty

And their hair so neat.

Her hands shake

As she enters the age of young,

Scared to let down with what she'll become.

Slowly suffocating in sickening slits of sorrow

That we call anxiety.

"Little one,

It's not real,

It's your growing body,

It's not how you feel."

They say as she discovers

Another use for a knife.

Hopes for help,

Dreams of rain,

Ripples of blood shed

Distract from other pain.

She's Eleven,

She quivers and shakes,

Eleven,

As her young soul breaks.

Fourteen,

She made it,

Now fourteen,

She thought she wouldn't live

To see it.

She's out now.

Her pride is known,

But now more than ever,

No love is shown.

She cries as she prays to smile,

A face she hadn't really felt in years.

A mask covers the imperfections

Placed by society,

Now has depression

To match her anxiety.

Her darkness has become her best friend

When everyone else has left her.

Once a sweet little miss,

Poor her.

She writes a note,

"Mom, I'm so sorry"

But now its too late,

For she

Lifts a knife to the smooth skin of her neck

For years, she's been a fucking reck.

For she,

To be sent to hell

Came so far, but then fell

Into the pit of despair.

No hopes,

No dreams.

She now eternally sleeps,

Pale,

Where a smile once gleamed.

One;

She once was one.

Just one,

Now she has none.