she's sixteen
and can already
tell you everything
about self destruction.
she can tell you how
to dress fresh cuts,
in the dark with
makeshift bandages.
and which foods are
easy to throw up.
she knows a thousand
excuses; "i already ate
"im just cold"
"it was the cat"
she's learned to hold
all her feelings inside
until late at night,
and cover her mouth
with her hands so
no one hears her.
she's perfected
her fake smile.
and she's been taught
oh so painfully
to build her walls up
high, to keep everyone out.