Women, as they say, are for decorations only.
A vase in an empty room.
She smiles because she has to,
another etches into her eyes.
She seldom wears her hair down,
a mane around her chin
will bring her sociability down.
Like little cats she was made to run around
and growing up she was made to fear the cats.
Old lady she will become;
rocking in her chair with a knitting needle
slowly sewing her life shut.
Cats and flowers hung around her docile wall.
She will hate her heart for beating.
Cooking and brewing are two different things,
one for disciplined wives and other for deadly witches.
She built herself around a perfect Church
and condemned herself for feeling
antagonism.
Cooking turned to brewing and
her soup became vitriol.
No one wants to drink from her again.
Pastels are the only colors you can sincerely show off.
You don’t want to seem grey and you don’t want to show any red.
Her father painted her room
and her mother carpeted her floor.
“No delicate feet must touch the ground,
leave your head in the clouds
when you’re coming down,”
her mother said.
Women, as she heard,
must be the one to gossip.
So she turned her ideas into someone’s life
and shared it with pleasant women in gloves
who were trimming their shrubs.
They giggled for a bit and registered
and then they thought and then they resigned.
“No, she does not work,
But the house is always warm when I get home!”
her husband says.
She smiles
(as she was made to)
and does not intervene.
At least now she can have a family
and at least now she has no reason
to fear her cats.
Sweet, sweet kitty.
Maybe someday from pre-law
she can be a lawyer.
Maybe.
But they elope and she still smiles.
Law isn’t as important as her family;
her two little kids and her intelligent husband.
Her little boy plays soccer in her field
and her little girl dresses her dollies.
Antagonism
She feels again.
But this time she does not subdue it.
The doll bleeds into her heart.
She gets up and throws it out of the window.
“If you want to get it, honey,
you go get it.
But first
you run and you run and you run
until you reach the turf
where you know that you belong.”
Women, as they say, are for decorations only.
Until one of them decides to break.
Then they are art.
Photo Credit: garryknight via Compfight cc
