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Poem

How many funerals of ones self can someone have before there is nothing left
Don't answer 
It's rhetorical anyway

Funeral number 1
A piece of her hair
A symbol of when they would stop and stare
At her hair
When they would make her life a living nightmare 
Until she became too aware
Until It became too much to bear
Until she silenced her hair
What once was full of life 
Was now minimised 
I wish she had realised that without her halo
She would no longer glow
But then again hair can grow
Maybe it's a metaphor for ones worth

Funeral 2
Her laugh 
Too loud they said
To black they said 
To much they said
Too much space she took she thought 
Her happiness too much
Too
Much
Now every room haunted by the ghost of her laugh
Her joy
Her presence 
Her happiness 
No room was worth going in anymore
Too empty
Too small
What once was loud 
Was now silent
I guess laughter is the best medicine 
I guess the medicine stopped working 

Funeral 3
Her carved skin
She was just given it 
She didn't ask for it 
So why do they hate her for it 
They told her bleach it 
Then she would be pretty
She did
Now she's a monster 
She can never win
What once was golden 
Was now broken
I guess what glitters is not always gold
Or Maybe it is, I guess it was a lie they told

So I ask again 
This time you can answer
How many funerals of ones self can someone have before there is nothing left ?

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