The veins on her temples
are about to explode.
Her mouth is wide open.
Thorax with a heavy load.
She has the look
of someone that screams.
Yet, no sound.
Silent screams.
Resident of a “golden prison”.
She can’t be too expressive;
let alone shout out loud.
No feeling can look excessive.
Inflated bank accounts,
and savoir-faire obsession.
A self-fucked-up family
that had everyone’s admiration.
Servants “stuck on her skin”,
following her everywhere.
Thirsty for some privacy.
Drink freedom, if you dare!
Until cowardness loses the game,
the only private place for her
is behind her bathtub’s curtain;
trying to wash away despair.
She didn’t need a lot of practice.
Soundless screaming is easy to learn.
Fourteen seconds of every shower
are trying to heal a whole-day’s burn.
The curtain opens. Smile!
Lights on the puppet…
“Here’s your towel, miss”.
Freedom back into the bucket.
(Originally published on Medium, hosted by Franco Amati ‘s “Scuzzbucket”
If you swim in the Social Media ocean, you’ll find me somewhere here for Instagram and here for Facebook, on a raft like the one Odysseus had, monologuing sometimes in Greek and sometimes in English.
♾️
Anthi Psomiadou — CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 International : Credit must be given to the creator/ Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted/ No derivatives
