Broken women

We love to write of broken women
We love to make our women broken
Is there anything more beautiful 
Than the gilded, tattered remains of her life

All of our women must be pliable
She will not move if she is calloused
And weathering makes her calloused
So she breaks down with the wind

I've never seen a written woman
Adored by time and by professors
Who hasn't had too much to drink
Who hasn't lost a child or two

We compete with broken women
See just how far we can push them
Will she live to thirty
Or will she just waste away

We all love our broken women
Their mourning cards are the most expensive
Their funerals are the most indulgent
Their names are closest to our lips

Broken women are appealing
You sleep with them while they sleep with sorrow
It's poetic really, how they're as thin and flimsy
As the lingerie you dress them in

We like to talk to broken women
Oil up our heartstrings with their sorrow
Clip our love around their tragedy
Take them out for walks

We like to show off broken women
Why do you think you love ballerinas
We fill dress seams we sew with sand
And look surprised as dollies sink

Our favorite women are broken women
And broken women are remembered
And there is nothing more beautiful than
The way broken women die