They all got it wrong -
every book, movie and play.
That’s what happens
when someone else tells your story.
They had us
whistling and working,
smiling and bowing,
shucking and jiving
- a minstrelsy of midgetry.
They grasped our truth in their hands,
stripped away our dignity.
Then, re-covered us in colorful, comical garbs,
re-christened us with colorful, comical names.
No one cares how it really was.
How we worked from dawn to dusk
carving out a livelihood
from harsh, unforgiving stone.
How we found a large, pale child
lounging in our beds
and eventually, looming over our heads.
How each day we looked up to her
and felt her presence in every crevice.
How she made us not fit
in our own home.
No one cares about the difficulty of keeping
a stubborn, mule-headed girl alive
when she ignores every warning
and opens the door
time and time again.
But, don’t listen to me.
Read the books,
watch the movies and plays.
Look at how they portray us –
Tiny people only living to please,
paying court to some displaced princess
that stumbled onto our doorstep.
Still, it’s over now.
We survived the reality
and later, we survived the lies.
We got our home back,
and we became ourselves again.
Secure in our skin,
Re-settled in our place.
And she has her own place now-
a palace, with servants and a prince.
She still hasn’t invited us over.
every book, movie and play.
That’s what happens
when someone else tells your story.
They had us
whistling and working,
smiling and bowing,
shucking and jiving
- a minstrelsy of midgetry.
They grasped our truth in their hands,
stripped away our dignity.
Then, re-covered us in colorful, comical garbs,
re-christened us with colorful, comical names.
No one cares how it really was.
How we worked from dawn to dusk
carving out a livelihood
from harsh, unforgiving stone.
How we found a large, pale child
lounging in our beds
and eventually, looming over our heads.
How each day we looked up to her
and felt her presence in every crevice.
How she made us not fit
in our own home.
No one cares about the difficulty of keeping
a stubborn, mule-headed girl alive
when she ignores every warning
and opens the door
time and time again.
But, don’t listen to me.
Read the books,
watch the movies and plays.
Look at how they portray us –
Tiny people only living to please,
paying court to some displaced princess
that stumbled onto our doorstep.
Still, it’s over now.
We survived the reality
and later, we survived the lies.
We got our home back,
and we became ourselves again.
Secure in our skin,
Re-settled in our place.
And she has her own place now-
a palace, with servants and a prince.
She still hasn’t invited us over.
Katrina Robinson is a freelance writer from Aylett, VA. Her publishing credits include V Magazine for Women and Norton's Hint Fiction Anthology. Her poem, "Beauty," appeared in the Beauty and the Beast issue of Enchanted Conversation.
