Was she

worth knowing

the beautifully tragic

miming merriment faker

riding her own merry-go-round

silently suffering for her showground crowd

falling for factory farmed tricks for postcard porcelain perfection

just to be another living doll to crack amongst his collection

Now naked as the wilted wildflower

growing in the crumbled castle corner

amongst the dust where wingless butterflies shelter

under an immoral moonlight of doubts & outbursts

amid fragile self-esteem strands

where the mean magic mirror taunts

disturbing many divine images it distorts

a slip from fingers and her heart loses its grip

to rid this splinter on her last bannister trip

she’ll unfollow the Tin-man’s humanity-lost timeline

and ignore these stairs that echo his ghostly whines

to not feel so deep this curse of despair

instead, she’ll challenge to change

to rid this wardrobe she bears

to run from her monster for her freedom and self-care