This is the second part to an initial piece I wrote entitled “I’m A Little Tea Cup,” discussing the fragility of women. I’ve taken a new look at the eldest, most prized plate which is the “mother” or matriarch figure in this poem. She is sat atop all of the other prized, fragile, beautifully painted china having been broken and misplaces before, watching on through glass that keeps her silent and seemingly adored for her beauty. If one was to open the cabinet, they would see a closer image of the plate that shows the struggle, abuse, and neglect. Dust would fly off her edges and her glued pieces would be seen clearly. The cabinet is a metaphor for the patriarchy that keeps woman inbound to a pressure of looking and seeming perfect and untouched while emphasizing the “purity” that is associated with a “good girl.”
Though this is my unique inspiration for the poem, I feel it is up to the reader to make the piece their own, whatever it may mean to them.
Truth be told I am painted with wounds.
Covered up by years of acne creams
and wrinkle depressants,
I sit before you a painted broken plate,
glued together by
I’m Sorry-s and It Won’t Happen Again-s
with beautiful flowers to hide my rough edges,
meticulously painted to distract from what is really there.
I sit here on my prized stand as a token of resilience,
as the burning phoenix who never went out.
When a reckless monster decides
to throw a football in the house,
I’ll teeter off.
Crashing down I will go,
broken I will return.
Relieving my tired wounds
to bleed as they should have.
Don’t touch the cabinet,
You might free the secrets inside.