Damsel In Distress

She calls herself

A damsel in distress.

People don’t find it worth gazing.

Say it doesn’t sound empowering enough

But she knows that it is her reality for now

And she’s had her share of running

So let’s accept.

There is nothing modest

In silently crying to bed.

As of today, her sobs are louder

And cheers more humble,

She perfectly misfits in the

Dress she curated for herself.

Her ankle-length insecurities

Expose her vulnerabilities

Every now and then.

And the mess she made in the kitchen,

Is nothing compared to herself.

But above all,

she is a damsel in distress

but not another damsel in distress

Waiting to be saved

by someone else.

…

She’s done being the opening scene of many plays

But the resolution of none.