Proper.

She lifts her head high,

Sits straight,

Her hands lay softly on her lap.

This is what she is.

Taught from the moment she was born,

Reprimanded if misbehaved,

Proper is in her blood.

She can only be proper,

In this life that she lives,

But her heart is not proper,

Not perfect.

This is not who she is.

She screams for an escape,

Where she can be herself.

But until then,

She lifts her head high,

Sits straight,

Her hands lay softly on her lap.

2011 (c) Jennifer Gioia

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