This is Maya.
Maya’s mother is so protective.
So much so that not even air can enter her ironclad embrace.
She couldn’t sing.
She couldn’t dance.
She was not even allowed to see other people.
Because it might attract attention.
And she was forced to tell herself,
“What should I do?! I am so beautiful. I am supposed to like it even if my own mind rejects it…”
Saying this was supposed to brush off her sorrow and loneliness.
She was not even allowed to die
For her life is so precious
So much so that even death laughs at her plight.
So lied Maya.
In her porcelain tiled skin ready to break.
Beautiful outside and dead from inside…