Why did you ever think dead girls could fly?

You look like a bird with that down on your wings, 
pretty girl, 
but you’re too weak to fly, 

so what did you hollow out your bones for? 

Happy, pretty girls 
don’t burn holes  
in their sharp, happy, pretty hips 
to break free from the skin they’re in. 

Strong, happy girls 
don’t cry 
when they realize there are calories in toothpaste. 

Don’t punish the mouth that grants you your voice, 
darling, this body of ours spans the universe. 

Why did you ever think dead girls could fly?