On Display.

A pink haired girl. Slightly over weight. Studs through her lips and nose...

I can see 15 slices along her porcelain thighs.

They're red. Thin.1''. Long.

I thought her skirt had just snuck up onto her lap, revealing her secret habit.

But then she stood up. Her skirt was short. Barely mid-thigh. Her legs elongated by her 3'' combat boots.

And I saw her self destruction and "artwork" was put on display.

"I cut myself. I'm fucked up. Accept it."

Such a scream for help. A disgusting scream to be noticed...

But her world is too afraid.

Her pink hair, and her pierced lip are too scary to confront.

Those steel toed DMs might kick.

Her snarl may spit ugly words.

She dares you to help.

She's too fucked up, even for you.

So, she'll go about her day...Of cigarettes, razors, and Frappuccinos.

And her friends. The Enablers, smile on.

Pretending not to see the manifestation of her hurt.

Because she's too fucked up. Even for them.

**I saw this girl today while sitting in Starbucks. She came in with a group of her friends. All in black, and leopard print bags, and matching pink hair. They ordered a Frappuccino each. Sitting on the couch, they laughed, and talked, making sure the whole cafe knew they were there. When I saw her legs, before I knew she had them purposely on display, my heart ached. I was shocked at the amount of the cuts...And then I felt disgusted. Knowing her friends saw them. And accepted it, and ignored it. Like they weren't there. They were 16 years olds. Not a day older. And yet, this was probably something they all had in common, just like their pink hair and fake taste in music. ...

Disgust and sadness.