She lay unmoving like a portrait, beautifully paralyzed with fear. Her upside down smile drowned in the burning piles of salt that came from her eyes. A Mona Lisa, sculpted by society's rough hands. Kept in museums to be gazed at. Her hair was adorned with roses, the ones with thorns, a gift they say. She wore white, purity they said, even though she bled red the color of life. Slowly dying, she envied the wilting flowers, unlike them, her heart lay bare open on her chest for anyone to mistreat. How she wished she could sow herself back together and hide from the world. Her lips were sewn together with thin string, a thin string that had a mind of its own. She became a string puppet, talking only when asked, moving only of someone else's will.
The curtains wept at our unfortunate circumstances, the ones we brought upon ourselves. The curtains were her comfort and the hearth of her lament. She cried for the babies born into the world, knowing that they would suffer as much. This burden was given to her to cradle like an infant. She would cradle her burden with resentment like an unwanted babe pushed into the world. Many had stopped resenting their burden, giving into standards. Becoming an unmoving statue, she learned to observe all around her. With a pressure above her shoulders she yearned to be listened to.
Listen to her plea of rage!
She hated roses. She hated thorns, the thought of having to sacrifice everything for a brother, a son, a husband. She hated white, purity never went well with her. Why should she be pure for others' satisfaction? White meant she had stopped struggling, society's delusion. White meant she was good as dead, a bride. She much preferred red. To others it was impure, unnatural. (How then were you born you fool!) Red was more honest than white. It showed our harsh truths like a mirror being held up. Truths they'd rather hide behind the safety of a curtain. How she wished to let the world say her name, woman. But she remained a statue, everyone knows statues don't have a voice, or rather can't.
This was her coffin of burdens.
