girl, so frail and limpid,
working so hard to look as fragile as you do,
how can you not expect the world to break you?
with pride in your porcelain you drop
off the cliff as is expected,
all surprise at the resulting crash and burn.
girl, you've left your gloves on too long,
let them dress you up
in lace and lipstick and pure, easy lack:
what do you have, when your hands are empty?
who do you love, when you're alone?
oh girl, you've let them leave you up so high
and built no ladder for your feet.
maybe you thought that woman would help free you—
woman with her pride, with her sensbility,
with the weight of stored-up sin.
woman cannot even hear you cry,
she is busy roaring her fury, didn't you know?
you've missed the train, lost the ferry,
foundered on the sidewalk.
no, girl. it's up to you to learn the rules
and walk the ropes, to make the hands that placed you
where you are today (high, shivering, cold)
reach for you again, and bring you down.
there are no eyes
that cannot be dazzled, no ears
that can't be charmed. if they built you, sweet one,
then surely they will tear you down as well.