They Creep, They Creep, They Creep

They creep, they creep, they creep, they creep.
Along the walls, along the floors, upon the ceiling.
The bars cannot hold them—the trees hide them.
The eyes, that stares at me, through the yellow paper—
The heads that scream a thousand languages.
And they creep, they creep, they creep and creep.
Their leader, a woman trapped within the paper,
Shakes at her bars, attempting to escape by moonlight.
Noises, throughout the day, are made—small noises.
Barely even there.
Out the window, faceless women creep,
in shadows, along the trees, carefully over the grass.
They creep, they creep, they creep, they creep.
Unable to write—for men’s eyes always watching.
Unable to walk around – for they can only creep.
Unable to fly – for their wings have been clipped.
They creep, they creep, they creep, they creep.
Women whose husbands take them away.
Hide the fact that they are ‘suffering’.
Treat them as children, little simpletons.
And their mind slowly fading away.
Secretly, the creeping women plan.
Break free of the bars, the yellow bars,
Silence the thousands languages.
But yet, all they can do is creep.
And they creep, they creep, they creep and creep.
Into the yellow wallpaper.

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