In the afternoon,

the sun shines down on the parlor,

illuminating the elaborate spread of today's delicacies.

In the afternoon,

an elaborate gown is steamed and pressed by my ladies maid,

and handed to me to change into for the afternoon's festivities.

In the afternoon,

the jam is spread onto my scone by yet another maid,

who asks me if I shall require more or less.

In the afternoon,

I pour my tea delicately into my china teacup,

watched by the scrutinizing gaze of my mother.

In the afternoon,

I butter my bread with proper dining etiquette,

dabbing the remnants from my lips,

and folding my hands into my lap courteously to indicate I'm done.

In the afternoon,

my hair is brushed, braided, and prepared

for a day of sucking up.

In the afternoon,

I walk about the library with a book placed precariously atop my hazel brown mane.

In the afternoon,

I waltz around the ballroom clutching a broom,

in hopes it'll one day be my prince.

In the afternoon,

I'm escorted to the drawing room for yet another display

of my wifely qualities for foreign suitors.

In the afternoon,

it's yet another day in the same boring routine.

In the afternoon,

I yet again long for the day

I can be free of the chains of the life my parents have planned for me.

In the afternoon,

it's yet another day I so desperately long to be someone else.

In the afternoon, I wish I was Amaris.

-Brianna Cecille Blades