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A poem of taking back one's power. |
The Wedding Day By: Brittany H. Crawford The heals of her shoes were ragged and broken, Yet she treated them like a gem. Not a word was spoken As she fiddled with the hem Of that old dress…. Oh what a mess. Her mother grew tired and weary Of going through the fight. Her eyes were glossed and teary Knowing that this wasn’t right. If only her daughter could see, That this wasn’t meant to be. He looked just like an aristocrat With clothes of fine thread. Her mother still knew that he was a rat But still they were to be wed. Once they said “I do” He kissed her lips and then she knew. The fear built up deep inside her Yet she kept that smile upon her face. The rest was all a blur, Till he had her in his embrace. He put her soul right in a box That damn man was as sly as a fox. She cooked the dinners and cleaned the house. Her hair became tangled and faded. Even when she was as quiet as a mouse, He made her feel degraded. Till one night she finally ran, And that wasn’t the end of her plan. Six days later she returned to that place With a shot gun in hand. His eyes got big and there began the race, She’d finally taken a stand. Then she sat at the table smiling you see, ‘cause she knew she was finally free. |