I̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶l̶ ̶ ❝ butterflies and roses ❞

25. pride of prisoner

❝
The gold dust fell on her face
The freckles she wore like a lace
Some of them fell on her shackles
Turning them into jewellery, dwelling on miracles.

She was carried on the palanquin 
Encrusted with trust, rubies and subtle lies that lean
secured from the scorching heat of leeway
by the veil of trepidation and fray.

Scrumptious meals that persevered 
the secret recipe whispered in its aroma, it reserved,
fed her with what she was coerced to
Stuffing her with what she believed would make her beautiful.

The broom would ward off the evil
Sweeping the dust beneath the throne of the devil
Yet she couldn't make them budge an inch
They said work will make her healthy, she flinched.

Then she laid her head on the cold concrete
Forcing herself to believe that her fate would concede
but once she realised that the lines on her palm are permanent 
She slit them off, she removed the ornament.
                   ❞

──❀*̥˚──◌─────❀*̥˚─

Random poem. My grandma died. Not coming anytime soon. Thank you for reading.💚