Stability should've been a good sign-
away from the tumultuous, fast paced drama
that brewed at home in Riverdale;
away from the monotony of high school,
dictating the kind of box you should be defined by
only to tear you down for conforming too much
(or not at all: no one knows exactly
how to stay within rigid lines,
and breaking out
of the mold scares people more
than mere conformity)-
but Betty didn't imagine it here
where she's expected, nay encouraged,
to repress, to cope without actually coping.
Sterility drives these women mad,
white ricocheting across white,
where sunlight filters in through
Impeccably clean windows.
That kind of brightness
burns your eyes, bleaches your senses,
broils you into a stew of shallow delights.
She is not herself,
not really,
but that lost identity came about
before she stepped over the threshold
Into this world of women stripping away every
last morsel of individuality out of you,
until your soul disconnects with your body,
until you can be molded into someone more useful,
more...broken. That kind of hollowness is the end goal,
and Betty wants to fight that-
Fighting is in her nature, and that will never go away
(but is it worth the trouble,
but is it worth the pain;
at what cost does fighting do any good?
will it be worth trying to find out,
will it be worth more than your individuality?)-
The Sisters of Quiet Mercy greeted her
with solemn distaste, regarding Betty's
blonde ringlets as gaudy; these women are
out of touch with reality,
having dutifully constructed their own.
Betty is not welcome here, not really,
but it's stability and that's what she needs
(but it's not what she wants-
her heart is a fickle mistress,
even though her brain surely knows better).
She must lay down and surrender,
until she has a better plan,
and who knows how long planning
goes until she gets caught,
a relentless loop of pain until pleasure pops up again.
Stability is not an option,
when personal autonomy doesn't reign.