Am i pretty now?

A young girl sits at the end of a table,
eating alone, not a common fable,

no one sees her as herself,
but another imperfect doll upon the shelf,

shunned and never spoken to,
cast out from the popular slew,

judged on basic physical features,
as time passes so do her tears,

she sits alone and no one knows,
what beauty she really bestows,

they just look and toss her away,
out from the fray and shallow array,

imperfection in similarity with them,
unwilling to cover herself in cream,

through tears that ache and overwhelm,
she ventures to a brand new realm,

she locks herself in her bedroom,
and silently slits away to her doom,

she wipes the blood along her face,
leaving smudges on her lips of salty taste,

she slowly paints her face till she collapses,
falling with a small thud like thunder claps,

tears and blood draining in full,
ending her life in a final lull,

with her final inscription traced on her brow,
and on her wrist written is ‘am I pretty now?’