Posted: January 29, 2014 in Poetry, Songs


This is the story of the little girl living by the mountainside

Or of the one playing solo in the meadows

The little girl playing mummy with her barbie dolls

The little girl singing herself to sleep every night

The little girl hiding herself in a corner each day

The one who locks herself up but is praying for release, yes freedom

You know, the little girl who doesn’t know what it means to be a child

Cause’ her innocence was snatched away from her

Her past is ever present, always haunting, always hurting

Maybe if she were born a boy none of this would have happened

Maybe, if she died at childbirth she would have been spared of life’s pain

Maybe, maybe, just maybe

That’s all she can ever think of

The little girl has holes in her heart, big holes

Who can reach out to it and mend it

Laughter is a luxury she can’t bear to indulge in

Because, somehow, when she’s about to laugh, tears form

The little girl hidden from the rest of the world

Because media says she doesn’t aesthetically match up

Cosmo, Vogue, Elle all tell her what beauty is

But who will tell her what true beauty is, the unfaded beauty

She doesn’t understand that charm is deceptive

And so she hides,

The little girl is now grown, but inside, she’s still little


Still hurting, still struggling to cope

Still stuck in her corner, still crying out for help,

In the midst of us, the little girl still walks.


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