Cassandra does what no other girl would do.
That’s why the boys like her so much.
In secret though.
Cassandra acts in extremes.
Cassandra is still so young.
She is not aware that she loves herself.
She tries to outdo the other girls.
Always pleasing the gaze of the boys.
But when Cassandra comes home very late at night,
She looks into the mirror, at her smudged features
And cries some more, the make-up flows.
The glacial double shrieks and feels betrayed.
Cassandra looks at her mother who lets things happen.
And so she does the same and doesn’t know these things are wrong.
Cassandra makes herself so small to fit into all the boys’ pockets.
Untenably she flutters on the edges, can barely hold on.
Cassandra has been taught that she has no agency.
Take it. Accept it. Live with it. It’s a woman’s plight.
Cassandra is fifteen. The wounds on her body are old.
Everyday she paints on her face a false identity.
Cassandra is so lost, she is unloved.
At the bottom of the food chain she lingers.
Letting things happen.
Cassandra’s tragic agency.