Along she came like a piece of clothing hung on a rope, left to dry.
But yes, she strives for herself in hopes to fly.
All those days she'd sit in the silence, allowing herself to be defined by the voices around.
All this has left her drowning in every breath as she feared that the world would belittle her royalty.
Is that how it's to be?

A crown as majestic as beauty itself sits on her head with her heart as pure as a dove.
All those voices in her head had brought her down,reducing her to a speck in a cove.
An insignificant thing.
Much like what she'd always been, but crueller.
Is that how it's to be?

Disrespecting her being.
Accepting a common belief, not just a belief but a concept.
One that leaves her in regret.
A victim of indirect neglect she is.
A civilized aspect of it she faces.
So while she struggles to say yes, she's not playing hard to get.
She hopes for a good perspect.
The one that sees and feels, not the one that kills and leaves the heart.
Like the leaves in the dry season left fly, like a piece of hurt left to ache.

So she sits down on her bathroom floor and cries to herself , cause she dares not show her tears to the outside.
For they will cast her aside with the power of his pouncing temper that leaves her to wail as he waddles off, his perspective shown.
So she stays, like a wadi in the dry season now tired of the sunshine, awaiting the rain.
Hiding the pain.
Her beauty, unseen, unshown.
Her bravery unknown, buried beneath scars.
Cause it's "his" first, his sweat sown to his forehead.
Evidence of his position, head. Is that how it's to be? No!

But she hangs in there like a piece of plain cloth, adorned with stains, and left to dry.
Putting her scars away.
So it should not be.
But he's alpha. So, so it shall be and shall be denied not.
Cause he's fought for all he's got.


© felcon0