no more a doll.

it is a fact of life, i was told when i was small, that those who follow the rules will succeed.

and yet, no matter what i do, i feel myself slipping farther and farther away from where i wanted to be.

may i ask a question? have i not given enough, sacrificed enough, for mincing steps and perfect arpeggios, for sapphire eyes and white-blonde hair, for perfection, for love?

but then, who wants to love a china doll? what man would dare try?

so if i cut my hair and paint my lips, do not despair.

it is a quest of sorts, a quest to find the soul of the girl underneath that porcelain shell.