Always the Cute Girl

There she sat - pig tails in her hair.
She was 21 years old.
She was a grown up - she kept saying.
Almost 22.
At work every morning and school most nights.
She was getting married someday.
She was always a cute girl. Always adored.
She was always a cute girl, sometimes little more.
Flashes of red, black, grey and deep blue -
The cute girl was almost 22.
She dreamed things would be normal.
One day they would feel fine.
She curled up at night and balled her hands tight.
She was always a cute girl, sometimes little more.
She cried in bright red. She screamed in deep blue.
Her floors were hardwood and windows closed tight.
The draft was strong, the comforter light.
She painted. She sobbed. She'd spin in her room.
Her home was so small - but enough room for her dancing feer.
She was always a cute girl, just a little off beat.
Soon things would be normal.
She bought a pretty white dress.
Found the right man.
Painted the right life - with her brush.
No more finger paintings for this grown up cute girl.
She hung flowers in doorways, a perfect day.
She was always the cute girl - and well on her way.
She was a grown up - less bohemian than before.
She had new things and wore button down shirts.
She combed her hair straight.
She wore pretty girl skirts.
She forgot how to dance.
She forgot how to cry.
She lost the cute girl - there was more inside.
She'd always been the cute girl.
Where is she now?