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Poem: Flown

April 25, 2012
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From the earliest age, she had been taught to achieve, to be good at things.

Things like ballet, music, drama, art appreciation and above all, to be good at being a lady.

It was as though all the literature in the world had passed before her parents’ eyes and yet something of its worth had been filtered out.

She loved them, of course; she was proud of them.  An artist and an artist’s wife.  Yes, that was the unavoidable issue, a woman defined by her husband’s worth, defined by her husband.  A woman’s worth denied by her husband’s worth, a woman’s worth denied by her husband.

And there she was, raised to accept, to embrace that way of life.  Yet she was about to embark on something, an adventure.  One that might just break a lifetime’s learning. She smiled.

She frowned then, imagining what others would say to such a claim.

She cast her mind through various friends and family members. There were those who would scorn the idea, those who would laugh and even some that would scold her for thinking at all.

But now she banished these thoughts, for such thoughts of others and thoughts of doubt were exiled from her new self.  She was new; after all, she had flown.

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