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What is there beneath it all?
Beneath severe veneer
and cruel smirk?

What is there?
What is there?

Not many would look
and say,
and say
I am beautiful and kind
like the mousy girls out there
or valiant like the heroines
of recent years

Not many would say
my soul bears
the most innocent intentions
nor the sunny smile
of a picture girl

What is there?
What is there?

What is there beneath it all?
A charred garden of dreams past?
Twisted guts in everlasting pain?
Deep-seated anger?
Bitter tears and self-pity?

What is there, you ask
and my tired answer is

nothing but barren soil
for your veiled contempt
and critique to grow