Lizzie didn't know what she was doing wrong, she was popular with all the boys, but her self respect was gone. Shattered like the glass from when she smashed her mirror, her fists of rage murdered her reflection as she shed a single tear.

She used to be a doll, blonde, thin and tall, but now she spent her days crying in the last bathroom stall.

This doll's smile was faded, but she was popular, and that's what mattered. But her skin no longer seemed to glow, her outfit was too tattered. Her strings were cut as she fell to the floor, nobody wanted this doll anymore.

LIZZIE IS A SLUT was written on the door, the red lipstick smeared like blood as Lizzie cried once more.

Who says that boys don't play with Barbies? These boys seemed to like it. They touched and played with her all day and she didn't want to fight it.

Acceptance is for what she begs, she thought they could find it between her legs. But nobody likes a dusty doll, dirsty from the floor of the bathroom stall.

No more boys to touch, and no more boys to kiss. Maybe that's why Lizzie decided that she should slit her wrists.