Little Miss Imperfection.

We have cause to believe you have endangered yourself.
Now child, we may not see through all your lies you tell.
How you hide the things you think you have hid so well.
The sound of the sobs and weeps that seep through the wall.

Dear child of ours, we know what is going on in your head.
The cuts you have inflicted upon that perfect pale skin.
The way your ribs protrude from your already petite frame.
Yours lies of how the tears you cry aren't from this thing.

You need help and so we must beg you for this.
We know your thoughts, the way you seem to think.
We know you hate this, how you love to hate us.
Just bare with the rules dear girl, for once be perfect.

"Die, I'd Rather die." screams in your head, but why?
Take the rope and your pretty little self that we love.
The World is against you--or so you think that's what's true.
The stools been kicked, there you hang dear child of ours.

All in all, we have the most guilt to be racked up.
We are the parents of a suicidal drama queen.
The parents who only want her to be perfection.
So welcome home again, little miss imperfection.

© Megan Wheeler 2007