It sits at the back of her throat , like an ornament.
She's rendered divine , she laughs .
She's treated like the flowers , in the back of her gardens .
Nurtured , cared , hidden then plucked .
An offering to God, on the altars.
Passed to the mercy of men .
One then another.
She grows ,
One day while playing she observes a bird ,
Prussian wings, Vivian eyes.
It was the same bird she read about.
And the owner loved it,
Fed it , talked , cared.
But it was still a bird
Devoid of sky
She heard bombs were destructive,
Could wipe out nations , were fragile.
So they must be kept , decoration.
One day , her girlhood came bleeding down her legs ,
And it grew as the boundaries her mother built .
Her girlhood grew , at the back of her throat ,
In her hidden rage , in her body and face .
And she realised it was not divine .
That no one saved the goddesses,
That in the end , her necklace was just a leash ,
Her girlhood,just a cage .
Her existence was a decoration, and she was reminded again and again ,
Fragile, fragile, fragile, fragile.
Fragile .
Too fragile to exist ,
Too fragile to speak ,
Too fragile to risk showing,
Like a china vase .
Fragile.
-ss
YOU ARE READING
Unsaid
PoetryIt was painfully worded , And beautifully read , The things that were written, Were those never said.
