heavy is the crown
but she wears it like a feather—
her thoughts are ensconced by the ring of gold
barricaded and locked—never to be heard.
she has learned to ignore them.
she speaks too much as it is—
it would be a disaster
if anyone heard what she really thought—
how unorthodox
it is
to be listened to.
no one noticed the strain
that the circlet put on her—
they wouldn't want to know.
she was placed on a pedestal;
but she wavered on the throne
and was shamed for the quaver in her voice.
deep breaths.
control,
quietly.
joy is a weakness
that isn't worth mentioning.
chin up, princess
else the crown slips.
