Words || Sara Zarriello
Little girl twirl and twirl,
fallen girl pick yourself up,
lift and lift above the ground,
till they can’t see you anymore.
Rise and rise above their scrutiny,
they above all fear your mutiny,
don’t let that stop you,
don’t let that change you.
Perfection is what they strive for,
they tell you you’re not their type,
but you see perfection as something more.
They’ll pull and prod at you,
your face your mind your body your soul,
they’ll inject and rejuvenate,
sell you and return you,
they’ll laugh and pity you,
spread rumours, hate, gossip.
Fake is what they’ll call you,
when you feel your realest self,
and your most insecure moments will be their triumph,
pay no mind no body no face no soul to them.
Some call them devil incarnate,
but I’ve seen them vulnerable, hurt, scarred,
just like you and me.
So continue girl,
rise and rise,
because their self-hate,
can’t touch your self-love.