As anyone who knows me knows, I write fiction and non-fiction of a serious nature. I have no fun creative side. My inner Creative Child was beaten and bruised long ago. That’s not even the saddest part.
Who’s mother and father always made her wear a girdle.
Said she, “That is how it will have to be,
Every time you get out of bed so no one else can see.”
But Myrtle hated being the only turtle
In the family because she was the only one to wear a girdle.
So she tried to hide it on the go.
Myrtle tried big shirts, wide pants, ribbons and even a bow.
In school Myrtle felt like such a fool.
Her mother’s demand led Myrtle to break rule after rule.
Myrtle couldn’t take gym as a turtle.
She had to stay out of the pool and refused to jump any hurtle.
One day, after everyone poked their fun
Myrtle decided that she was shunned for her last shun.
She ran. At least as fast as turtles can.
She ran. She ran even faster than any other turtle can.
Harder and harder she started to breathe,
Until at last, that girdle couldn’t hold back the pressure, you see.
That girdle gave out where it was at,
Everything broke, every button, seam, and slat.
Though she walked by and looked in a window,
Myrtle was relieved to see she finally looked like a turtle, So,
Away she went to tell of her day,
To a mother to whom she didn’t care about what she had forbade.
She told of her day with such glee,
All mother could say was, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
From time to time a moment will come,
When Myrtle the turtle will still feel a tiny little bit of glum,
Some would say she never has no fun,
But then she remembers her girdle, her pain, her win, and her mum.
Myrtle now smiles like a happy turtle.
Fore no little turtle, no matter their shell, should have to wear a girdle.