She was six,
standing on that stage,
with roses in her arms,
and a crown,
to big for her little body.
No make up,
an innocent smile,
lots of freckles,
and a simple violet dress.

She was seventeen,
Miss Teen Texas.
A football all-star boyfriend,
and a passport already stamped.
Everywhere she went,
perfection,
was the crown on her head.

She’s twenty-two now,
Miss Texas.
She throws up every day,
an empty bottle of wine
at her side.
All of the people who loved her,
have left,
and she cries herself to sleep.
She’s broken,
and alone,
and addicted,
and sick.

But as she walks across the stage,
as Miss USA,
everything seems to be okay.
She stands tall,
putting up
a sweetly ironic facade.
Because if she doesn’t,
her crown,
will fall.