Good Girl

Is home really the warmest place

for a good girl to be?

Where her heart is shared

between her body and the walls

and the ceiling and the floors

and the dirt and the broom

Is it really her own then?

When it is buried beneath the ground

so the house may have something

to stand up on

But how can it be a foundation

when it will eventually fall,

when it was meant to be held, not to hold up?

Her heart is a sponge

used to scrub the dishes

when everyone else is asleep at night

It is the plate she hands

to a guest when they come over,

to be used and thrown away when done

But an obedient daughter

never says anything

She simply picks up the dirty teacups

and carries them away,

balanced precariously on her elbows

because her hands are filled with requests

She holds ice between her teeth

a substitute for sugar cubes

that are too sweet

for a girl whose compliance

has made her cold.

Photography/@reena.paints

Photography/@reena.paints

Noor IqbalComment