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Message from Writer

mischief managed

society's walls

January 4, 2019


they painted the walls
with a baby pink shade--
soft, delicate. elegant,
everything, in their opinion,
she should have been.

they painted and painted
dreams, aspirations, goals
a medical degree, three kids (all boys),
a model husband.

and then, 
their daughter opened her eyes
for the first time

she loved her bedroom
awash with the promise of
an ideal future
a shared dream.

seventeen years later...

a rebellious teenage girl stood
in the middle of the room
buckets of white paint surrounding her.
she emptied them on the walls.

taking a brush,
she painted.

rugby scholarship, a beautiful girlfriend.
fiction books, a cottage by the sea.
two dogs (a girl and a boy).
and happiness-- lots of it.

her parents watched, horrified
but most of all, afraid.
'what will people say?'
'this isn't how it should be!'

but the strong woman walked away,
defiance reeking from her pores
ecstacy unbounded in her heart
a lone figure in the shadows.

i actually got this idea from my bedroom walls, though both my parents are feminists.
the poem, originally: baby pink walls
                                grace, elegance, beauty
                                i hate them.



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