How to Be Beautiful

Dear the girls,
Who ‘aren’t good enough’
Whose lives are so hard,
And things seem so tough.

Dear the girls,
Who try more than is fair,
Who give all that they’ve got,
And still no one cares.

Here are some tips,
To help you on your way,
And I know you’ll realise,
That your lives are okay.

Wear too much makeup,
And dress like a slut,
And act like you don’t care,
With your face in your butt,

Make sure you sound stupid,
Whenever you speak,
And don’t try to think at all,
Cos’ that’d make you weak.

How to be beautiful?
Some people may well ask,
Then don’t do these things,
And that line you’ll have passed.

You don’t need these things,
To make you seem pretty,
You just need to be confident,
And clever and witty.

Heaven

I ran through the fields of flowers, a streak of joy flowing through me.  The smell of fresh flowers penetrated my nostrils.  They smelt like summer.  I loved summer.  The days were always longer, so you could always seem to fit everything into daytime.  The day was bright and sunny, and drops of perspiration trickled down my cheek from the intensity of the heat.  I am not completely carefree though.  I question my every thought, every move.  I couldn’t seem to feel as calm and collected as others thought I was.  Inside I was screaming.  I was confused, angry even.  I hated that part of myself, that part that was always asking questions.  I stopped running and lay down in a bed of flowers with a particularly strong, sweet aroma.  I closed my eyes and drifted.  In my thoughts I drifted to my special place, a small white room I could no longer go to.  My study.  I saw the beautiful, intricate white desk, with a chair to match.  There wasn’t much else in the room.  The figure of me in my mind placed a pale hand onto the desk longingly.  The long white dress ‘I’ was wearing was in tatters.  I loved this little room, my sanctuary.  Whenever things didn’t go right anywhere else, I would escape up here, where I would write until my hands ached and cramps gathered in my legs from lack of exercise.  Sadly, I could no longer come here.  I watched through sad eyes as friends and family members came up here and said, “Her presence still lingers here.  It’s almost like she’s watching us from above like an angel.”  Every single person who came here said that, and it made me very lonely and sad to be referred to as a mere presence.  I was glad that they were moving on, though.  I was also glad that I no longer live there, in that world.  This world I now live in, is full of love and warmth.  Every night at dusk, I would hear angels sing.  It was beautiful.  But I was lonely in this new life.  I had no one to talk to, to confide in.  To quell my loneliness, I would visit my study and watch all of those people stroll through there daily, to mourn me.  Everyone knew that my death was inevitable but I was well missed.  I miss my friends too.  Now, I dream of a time and a place, where I can be with my friends and family again, where they can see me and not just sense my presence.  When I entered, I was greeted by bright light and choirs of angels.  This is what heaven feels like.