Glorification of a Life Robbed

She deserves better.

Spill the drink, don't quench the thirst;
Bury the rage, stifle the mirth.
Cut off her toes, the line is close;
It’s the stem in her destiny, not the rose.

She was a daughter, a sister, a mother;
She was not her—she lost her.
She was raised for it, praised for it!
She had to raise her kid, lace her lips.

Her heart broke, but she grew up.
Her gut clenched, so she threw up.
She looked back, her eyes were blurry—
She couldn’t find herself; her eyes were misty.

The shift was painful, piercing, and prolonged—
From despair to settlement, coercion until contentment.
"The grass is green," she repeated to herself.
Could have been grey, not necessarily greener.

Reality was acknowledged before it was accepted.
The pacification was achieved, learned, then instilled—
It wove through each daughter, a whisper in the bloodline,
Passed down as a legacy, an expectation of sacrifice.

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AUTHOUR’S NOTE: Writing a poem after sooo long. I had only an immature version of the second paragraph of this poem sitting as a draft in my docs and today I finally decided to finish it. It’s near and dear to me this one and written for every women who unfortunately relates to it. I hope no one does though.

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