I walk the halls,
Watching her flowing hair,
Golden in the perfect lighting,
Her hips moving from side to side,
Like Newton's cradle,
Left,
Right,
Left,
Right.

I envy her perfectly highlighted face,
And her winged liner,
That's as sharp as her heels,
Clicking along the wooden boards,
Hypnotizing everyone and anyone,
Including me.

Me,
The girl that walks alone,
To and from class,
The girl that wears tattered jeans,
And stained shirts,
The girl that drops her books,
And gets bullied on countless occasions,
The girl that wishes that she was just like her,
Just like this girl that walks the halls.

Why am I not good enough?
And I'm not talking about others' opinions,
I'm talking about my own,
My self-image,
My self-worth,
My self-confidence,
Why am I not good enough?

Little do I know,
As I walk the halls,
That this girl,
This perfect image of a woman,
Doesn't want to be that way anymore,
While I would **** for that,
She would simply throw it away,
If it were that easy.

The popularity,
The attention,
The friends,
She'd be rid of it in a heartbeat,
If it were up to her.

But I still believe that I'm not good enough,
That I need a face of makeup,
Heels that are too tall to balance on,
An outfit to make me comfortable with my body,
Just to make me feel like I'm worth something,
Like I really am good enough.

So, I watch this girl,
And I envy her,
And she envies me,
As we walk the halls.

This tear falls,
Leaving a trace,
Leaving a scar,
On my weary face.

What's done is done,
Now, you can't go back,
Inside, where my heart was,
Now it's black.

All this destruction,
Was caused by you,
The damage was assessed,
And it needs more than glue.

You can't cover it,
Not even with a bandaid,
Nothing can hide the harm,
Of this heart-breaking blade.

The wound merely grows,
As the days pass by,
So, now would be a good time,
To say goodbye.

When I look down,
I'm not who I want to be,
I stand in the mirror,
And it's not me I see.

I want to be beautiful,
I want to be slimmer,
I want to be comfortable,
I want to be thinner,

I'm not perfect,
But I'm gradually healing,
It will take a while,
Because it's a new feeling.

I'll be in it,
Until the end,
And when I get there,
No longer will I pretend.

I will be okay,
I will be fine,
And my body,
Will finally be mine.

The metal hanging from my wrists,
And the steel clutching my ankles,
The chains weighing me down.

The chains not allowing me to move,
Or eat, or drink, or breathe,
The chains that stop me,
In my tracks,
Simply to listen,
To give in.

The chains of depression,
Dragging me into the depths,
The darkness that lays below,
These chains are the problem.

Will I ever escape them?
Will I ever find a way out?
Will I ever be free?
Was I ever free?
How am I supposed to know?

The chains that cling onto my limbs,
Are the chains we all dread,
We all despise,
We all don't want in our lives.

But hey, I was lucky enough to get them.

Everyone needs a helping hand,
To band as one,
To fight not run,
To have some fun,
And to help lift the tonne.

A hand to hold,
When it's getting cold,
When you need to be told,
That you are the gold.

It'll be there for you,
When you're feeling blue,
To give you something to do,
And something to look forward to,
But you've no clue,
As to why they stay with you.

As to why they help you through,
Your life that is a devilish stew,
But they make you feel as good as new,
Get you out of that horrid zoo,
Make you want to get back with the crew,
All because of this hand, who knew?

The questions grew and grew,
The theories starting to brew,
Why was this hand helping you?

Well, that's easy,
Because they care,
So, if you ever need a helping hand,
Know that there's at least one in this land.