I write bad poetry.

"what a pretty little thing," they crooned,
paraded around as a trophy,
perfect grades perfect posture
so obedient, so eager to please,
perfect student perfect daughter,
"pretty little thing."

"such a pretty little thing," they mumbled,
watching her flatten the creases in her skirt
in an effort to ignore the leering eyes and
dirty sidewalk, the feeling of alienation among
beggars and drunkards was a little too close to
the feeling with anyone else now—,
"pretty little thing."

"such a pretty little thing," they remarked,
unaware of how utterly dead she felt inside and
how difficult it was just to hold her head up,
as they returned her fake plastic smile
before she turned and walked away,
"pretty little thing."

failing courses
falling health
a burden, a
burden--

-unsteady &
unpredictable,
she was certainly
not so pretty on the inside.

"what a pretty little thing," they sighed,

(your burden, your burden)

"what a shame."

.