The Bull

We are the shattered shards

of beloved daughters

crushed like china

in the hands of our mothers

their petite porcelain dolls

made not to break, or ever change

coffined in glass, entombed in place

no more apologies, we were just a mistake

like mother like bull

In the China Shop

We are the shattered bulls

and unloved mothers

cherished like china

in the hands of our daughters

their imperfect ragdoll features

made as they are, free as the sand

cocooned in cotton, swept in embrace

 there were no apologies, no more mistakes

like daughter like china shop

About The Author

Jocelyn Royal is a senior at Arcadia University majoring in Biology with a minor in Creative Writing. When they're not working in the lab or around campus, they usually are writing or talking about writing or thinking about writing. They've previously been published in Phantasm and Arcadia's campus lit mag, Quiddity.