The Lady's dress was creased.
My tattered confidence under the boots
Of a thousand headed monster
Casting that same judgemental gaze.
How dare I throw
My cheap bottled emotions
On her beige evening dress?
Lady came back
The other night again
Mocking the monster, handing me the pen.
She asked us to cry on her bosom.
We did. The monster didn't matter anymore.
I found my place.
In her kind home
Where she asked me a thousand times
To paint her walls with our emotions.
I still remember when
She gave me her address.
Call me Page. I live in the Freedom's street.
-wish(A.M.)
YOU ARE READING
As A Woman
PoetryA collection of poetry talking about women- their joy, their accolades their strengths, their pain, their struggles, their weaknesses. Do share your experiences and thoughts, as a woman in this world.
