There's a lot of meaning behind it for me, but it's all probably words for everyone else. I dared to share it anyway. Got a way to help improve it? Please share--especially with the structure part...
It started out as a vain aspiration
Moved to a display of her true colors
Breifly became a passion,
Entirely an obsession.
Became the dead repetitive action.
Her head is a conveyor belt, ever in motion.
Through empty eyes she watches the world but behind those sold irises the belt is still flying, though everyone finds her sleepy.
Her body is weak.
She doesn't remember like she used to.
The belt doesn't function so cleanly.
Her smile is broken, completely fractured in pieces that grow smaller every day.
She's tired because whenever she puts forth effort she only falls flatter than the first time.
Her failure has finally idled her, her peers don't comply.
They scorn her quiet, call her pathetic, leave her forgotten.
She smiles, and plays and acts like it's pain but in reality
This is just a game and none of them matter anyway.
That belt is still working in her brain, still going as she finds who she is
While throwing away who she was.
Her eyes are dull, her fingers small and stumplike,
Her body long with fatty patches that put it out of proportion.
Or is the mirror playing tricks?
Her hair is falling out, becomes thinner every day.
Her face is flattened with cheekbones that struggle to be pronounced.
Her knees hurt.
Her chin is still drowning in the skin connecting it to her neck.
Oh, what she would give to one day make these things perfect.
Her head is bent forward on it's hinges,
Heavy with ideas and strivings to be perfect.
But, she can't even feel her heart beating.
Moved to a display of her true colors
Breifly became a passion,
Entirely an obsession.
Became the dead repetitive action.
Her head is a conveyor belt, ever in motion.
Through empty eyes she watches the world but behind those sold irises the belt is still flying, though everyone finds her sleepy.
Her body is weak.
She doesn't remember like she used to.
The belt doesn't function so cleanly.
Her smile is broken, completely fractured in pieces that grow smaller every day.
She's tired because whenever she puts forth effort she only falls flatter than the first time.
Her failure has finally idled her, her peers don't comply.
They scorn her quiet, call her pathetic, leave her forgotten.
She smiles, and plays and acts like it's pain but in reality
This is just a game and none of them matter anyway.
That belt is still working in her brain, still going as she finds who she is
While throwing away who she was.
Her eyes are dull, her fingers small and stumplike,
Her body long with fatty patches that put it out of proportion.
Or is the mirror playing tricks?
Her hair is falling out, becomes thinner every day.
Her face is flattened with cheekbones that struggle to be pronounced.
Her knees hurt.
Her chin is still drowning in the skin connecting it to her neck.
Oh, what she would give to one day make these things perfect.
Her head is bent forward on it's hinges,
Heavy with ideas and strivings to be perfect.
But, she can't even feel her heart beating.
