You told her if she wore that dress,
She'd be the prettiest of all,
You told her she should wear high heels,
Because she needed to be tall
You told her how to cut her hair,
And how much skin to show,
You told her exactly what to wear,
Trust me because I know,
You told her if she wanted boys,
she had to change her ways,
You told her to wear make - up,
Because plain skin's not okay,
You told her who she could love,
That anything different was wrong,
But you made her feel secluded,
Like she would never belong.
She hated wearing dresses,
And she couldn't walk in heels,
She couldn't live to your standards,
And all your ideals,
So you told her what she felt,
Furthest from the truth,
She couldn't be "depressed",
Because she was in her youth,
You told her she was a " freak",
That she never would fit in,
But then you told her nothing,
As she pressed a blade up to her skin
And once she had decided,
That you would tell her nothing more,
You wish you'd told the truth,
As she collapsed onto the floor,
She didn't need the make - up,
That being her was just fine,
She could wear what made her happy,
That she could not be defined,
Then when you came to realize,
That she never knew you cared.
You wish that you'd have told her.
The world was better with her there.
- E. H.