Maiden

You call the crone,

expecting to see a sweet faced granny,

ignoring the edge of madness in the cackles,

and anger that comes of watching lifetimes of humanity go by.

You call the mother,

expecting to hear a soothing lullaby,

ignoring the husky tones, secret smiles,

and the sway of the hips that made her mother in the first place.

Don’t call me,

expecting a sweet faced doll,

some comforting image of innocence,

with no wildness inside.

My frailty is my own, as is my strength.

Try and contain me and I will dance

all over the limits you place

and the definitions you try to force.

Ignore my precious ferocity at your own peril.

I am not here to comfort your preconceptions.

I am here for Myself.

Song Choice: As defined by Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads, today's prompt was inspired by Sia's Chandelier