Submission
She wakes up in the morning, and imagined for a moment this is
not her life.
But the summer sun sheds light on all she wishes to keep in
darkness, and she cannot deny it.
There are questions on her lips, inquiries of, "Why Me?
Why now?"
But she does not ask.
Submission.
There is a world spread open before her, endless and open, and
she knows she could run.
But she doesn't.
There are walls to keep her in, though they are tired and
rotting.
She remains.
Submission.
She goes about her duty of caring for others:
Make breakfast, do dishes.
Laundry and lunch.
Dinner and dishes again.
A housewife, it might seem
But she's only seventeen.
Submission.
At night she dreams of all the things she would buy, if she had
the money.
A new bottle of lipstick. That foundation she likes, at full
price.
Sometimes her heart hopes for more extravagant things.
A dress that does not come from a thrift store. A house without
holes that will not fall, will not tumble down.
She dreams of a life, of happiness, even of school.
She closes her eyes.
Submission.
c.b.l //
submission
jahn79* · 8 years ago
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This poem has so many layers. One layer is breathtakingly beautiful, another haunts my nightmares.