Mama says I’m a natural, 

That I’m spoiled in my craft. 

So she recruits me for more and more pageants 

Like I’m a soldier in the draft. 

My bones are bruised, my skin is sinking. 

Mascara weighs down my eyes. 

Ma tells me 

Hold yourself 

Like what you are-- 

To hold myself like a prize.  

 

As we barrel down the highway

I scream into her ear

“Why must I tell you the same thing 

Year after year after year?” 

Shut up. I’m doing 

What’s best for you. 

Now start applying your blush. 

“I want to play softball. Or be part of chess club.” 

Honey. 

Long breath.

That’s enough. 

 

The dressing room is cold and stiff,

As stiff as the girls inside it. 

Mama whispers 

You better put a smile on your face. 

But I tell her I can’t find it. 

 

We both stare at the dirty mirror. 

Four tired eyes stare back at us. 

I reach my hand for the tainted glass.

             My reflection’s all I can trust. 

Then the glass starts to 

Crack, 

Our figures shatter, shards fall.

The room blurs and goes black 

Until there’s no room at all. 

 

I can hear Mama’s voice. 

She says her hand’s bleeding out. 

But the red will make

The perfect blush,

No doubt.

Her cold fingers press 

Against my eyes. 

The blood drips down my cheeks.

A new disguise. 

 

I run outside 

But I can’t find my way. 

The world looks like night 

Though I know it is day. 

Ma grabs me by the dress

And pulls me inside. 

You can run little girl, 

But now you really can’t hide. 

She yanks me forward,

Our hands intertwined. 

There’s no way to play chess

When the player is blind. 

She throws me onstage. 

I trip on my gown. 

As Mama helps me up

I feel her eying the crown.

 

And when I win 

It’s cold on my head.

I drown from its weight

Though I try hard to tread. 

I pull glass from my eyes

And cry crimson tears. 

As the colors come back,

The dark disappears. 

 

Walking towards the car 

Mama smiles and gloats.

She tells the world how 

She loves me the most. 

Every pageant, my daughter

Gets out there and kills. 

 

Yet every pageant, 

I’m the one 

Who is slaughtered still.