You whisper in my ear
My thoughts
And every fear

You know all my weaknesses
You see every flaw
You know all my secrets
You see all my scars

You tell me there is no future
And force me to believe in nothing

You tell me not to speak
Not to raise my hand
You tell me just to smile
Even though none is there

I am but your puppet
Nothing but a doll
You force me to want perfection
When I have none at all.
      
                    —Bella Crosthwait