Woman awaits.

Your conforms have shackled me ,

In this archaic , rusted metal. 

The blasphemy has subsumed me ,

In your boundless chattel .

The order of life settled,

Been euphoric for you , 

Has hearten your mettle,

But things slated for me are all black and blue. 

My reticence ,

Was never a choice.

My silk gown dignified me ,

My virginity ,my innocence ,

Affirmed my poise. 

My eyes did say ,

Through the adorned tulle 

Of the veil 

My hands did shiver

In the sheer lacy gloves.

But I didn't condemn this aurae. 

Because I wasn't supposed to ,

Utter a word.

A queen wasn't supposed to 

Be as absurd. 

In the taut corset ,

My heart died at each pump. 

But my friend says ,

"You'll get used to it ,

To this doom forfeited."

In the clamor of the men ,

Raising their wine glass

And laughing,

At the gala then , 

I perceived the farse. 

The hypocrisy I saw ,

How they hailed their queen,

And how their jaws gnawed ,

At each lace of her self-esteem. 

My lips had words to spill ,

My brain had dreams to knit. 

My hands had desire to labour ,

For the toils I wasn't supposed to fit-in. 

But the modest crown 

From the clouded age 

Was ponderous on my thoughts 

Which , it thinks to be adown. 

 But my musing do sojourn ,

 To an abode 

 Where they do not mourn 

 women.

I better , well, anticipate 

A tomorrow of acceptance.

Where they acquiesce

Where they concur for a repentance. 

I long for my heart to inflate ,

For the corset to be redundant.

I desire my gown to not be a requisite 

My world awaits ,

A turn of fortune,

For the woman mordant 

And free.