I want to sit on the porch
Of an old Victorian mansion
Forgotten somewhere in the forest
Like a proper lady with sweet tea
The rooms just dimly lit by lanterns
With creaking wooden floors
The distant screeching of owls
Watch the summer storm hit
Mumble in my cup: “We needed this”
Watch the moon shimmer in the night air
Wake up by taking a bath
Smell the morning dew on grass
Hear nothing but the rustling of leaves
The wind gently blowing through the trees
Discuss worldly matters in the dusty streets
With the old doctor whose a gentleman
Put my hair in a high bun
Finish my corset with a proper hat
Talk sharply to the nosy people in town
Cause I’m not to be messed with
While taking of my silk gloves
To open ink stained letters
Of delicate connections
Throw a party for my ladies
With their umbrella’s and gossip
Offer them exquisite delicacies
Watch the sugar cubes on my hand
Getting nibbled by my beautiful horses
Rearrange some of my oil paintings
Taste beautiful words on my lips
Rearrange the heavy books of my library
Wander the halls without any purpose
Knit while staring in the distance
Gather yellow wildflowers in the fields
Rummage afternoons in my kitchen
Tilt my head slightly to anyone
Who thinks it’s wise to talk down to me
Visit the church and say my prayers
Walk under several veiled layers
Sit in deep chairs as it’s raining
While the guests are telling ghost stories
Make a slight bow at boring party’s
Wave my fan while smiling
Stroll in the shadows
Keep a comfortable distance
But the reality probably is
One day whispers would’ve spread
That there was something unsettling
About my manner, my gaze, my air
As I was a stranger in these lands
Narrow streets filled with hostile stares
What if she’s a passenger, a foreigner,
a witch? What if she’s a threat?
My jaw would’ve frozen
And I would have packed my bags
Burned all my letters and my dresses
Ripped my corset running down the stairs
Written a farewell note to the friendly doctor
Left him with dried herbs in a deserted kitchen
Grabbed the necklace around my neck
With my time turner safely in it’s locket
Galloping over the fields
With sweaty palms and wild hair
Thinking god damn it
Women always have to face
The same old shit