Flower Child

These days the world is a harsh place, too bitter for paper roses && pretty things made of lace && ribbons to survive.

And she was a broken little girl whose shadows were stronger that her will.

They bent her into pretzal pieces and left unsightly bruises on her arms that refused to fade away

She told the world to forget her, that she was much happier alone, and she charmed them with that unforgettable little cherry-smile.

They saw beauty but she was a pale child that was lost in visions of pock-marked failure. She thought she was a monster and so they refused to look at her.

It was just so cliched