red

my mother helps me zip up my red skin tight dress
another night of standing for show
shaped like an hour glass
i walk around the hall
a glass in my hand
my father holding onto my arm
too tight for me to move or disagree
he uses me as a trophy
she speaks six languages
she wrote three books
she has the steadiest hands
she creates from nothing
but behind all these doors and rich people's norms
i am the epitome of embarrassment
and a disgrace to the family
i am a rag used to wipe the floor with
and a punching bag for men with anger issues
behind these doors i am the maker
and i fix things
behind these doors i am the man of this house