The Scale

In circular fashion of royal’s gold smashed in, is the loss of a girl’s hair

And it’s held on a string, attached to a ring that couldn’t fit on the girl’s hand

But as it tipped and it toppled and slightly wobbled, so did this girl’s stance

In a persistence of trust and in life under lust, it became her romance

The chain, it rattled as it struggled to balance her scepter and her crown

The weight soured and she lost her power with a clang on the ground

And she quite enjoyed its curvature with deceitful mercature in the smudge on its mound

It rather eluded her, the secret meaning behind the weight of a pound

When it’s importance was meager and she had been eager, it was uninteresting toy

But, in her age and the flowers of rage, she succumbed to its ploy

And now she daydreams about the reflection it carries and the happiness it perries as she condemns her body to scold

And even though she was young and hardly had sprung, she began to feel old

Maybe if I’d listened and begged for contrition, I could have saved myself

But no one cares at all unless it is their body being displayed on a shelf

And I such desire in a way so dire to balance the daunting scale

But no matter the desperation or withstand of temptation, I still fail to hit the nail

From balancing apples to oranges to my bones and my organs, I denied Persefone of her fruit

And because I could read everyone’s mind, I developed quite astute

No one understood my life, which depended on the weight of a feather

And I rolled and sat down with my tears on the ground like a dog plagued with hunger

Despite the growing size of the black on my back, I close my eyes during the beatings

And I walked in the building with bruises covering me, but the others’ gazes were fleeting

I will probably spend my life on this scale, day in and day out repeating

If I don’t run from the scale, I support it’s prevail that denies life of its meaning