sonderlust-mykala-gray

i wonder what it was like –
to live in a lonely London.

stuffed into too tight dresses,
put on display for the ton,
quiet and pretty,
seen and not heard,
picked apart until only the acceptable parts remain,
a childhood of learning to be proper,
of being told to pipe down,
sit up straight,
smile,
be what they want;
a pretty little wife,
and a doting mother,
trapped in a life picked for you,
with a role to fulfill.

women do not have dreams
but we do,
and deep down,
i hope those girls did too.
i hope they kept a candle burning at night,
curled up under the moonlight to finish reading a chapter,
i hope they scribbled little poems on note cards,
when they had the chance,
i hope they giggled at each other’s jokes,
and had a favorite color, a favorite flower,
or a star in the sky they’d whisper secrets to,
maybe the sky is a constellation of dreams,
each little star a whisper from a girl unable,
i hope i can read those stars,
and finish what they never got to start.