She had reduced herself to ashes, to an empty body to please them.
Their expectations of how a girl should act, should look like.
She never filled out that specified emptiness, that sad and shallow silhouette
Of untrue women to be. She forgot about herself to respect their desires.
She went to them unidentifiable, on the verge of falling apart, without her own name.
And tried to enjoy what they had to offer her: nothing.
When she abandoned what had happened, she felt unborn.
Their hands never affected her skin, their mouths didn’t stir a thing.
They depersonalised themselves and thought of her as an absorber.
A silent being to take it, to congratulate them, withering beneath their
Tricked bodies. Their egos infected the inexistent language between them.
They were never able to see her, appreciate her, there was no inside to the outside.
“Orphans / Reading the Letter” by Thomas Benjamin Kennington (1856-1916)
Croque-Melpomene 