Trapped. And all there is as an excuse for a connection with the outside world is a glass window.
I hate it, I do. I hate every bit of it. But that’s not even the point. The point is that I loved every bit of it. I still do, I still love all this if one looks at the bigger scheme of events. But for now, this very real, slow moment, I hate everything I love.
A “madwoman in the attic”? Maybe. And all there is as an outlet, is a glass window.
It’s raining outside & I’ve always loved that. But now its mocking at me, the rain is. I hate it. I see it falling from the sky & touching everything but myself. And so, I’m left untouched. For I’m trapped.
It’s not really a torture chamber. There’s everything one needs for a luxurious existence. But for all those things one wants, one loves, outside their glass windows.
You’re not on your own. You’re with your people. You never have had to lift a finger.
What help is that? I’m trapped, and this structure that holds me…its suffocating me, as if it’s a vacuum, like a very tight corset. Society is like a hand that destines you to wear a corset with an excuse to make you look desirable, and then pulls the strings so hard that the corset crushes your ribs, knocks out the breath out of your body, and leave you like this for life.
And you smile, to make yourself look desirable. You see yourself in that corset and high heels through the glass window.
I see and do nothing for I’m trapped. And supposed to be grateful for this entrapment. But for all those things outside my glass window.
Because I’m a woman.