When a girl’s body is held hostage
And her cries are lost in the wind
Where is the public outcry
When she’s asked to pretend?
When her NO doesn’t matter
And her choice is no more
She is broken and bleeding
Yet, SHE is the whore.
Stitches hold her body together
But not her heart or her brain
No stitches or pills
Will erase the pain.
The memories that haunt her
The nightmares she dreams
The things that stay with her
Each one, ripping at her seams.
She’s told to be quiet
That her voice doesn’t matter
Her story isn’t told
Because it doesn’t flatter.
No justice for her,
No justice for him.
Now, she looks in every corner
As the lights grow dim.
She remembers the blood
Handprints on the wall
Trying to stay upright
As she walks down the hall.
For years, she keeps quiet
Her spirit still bleeding out
Her story she doesn’t dare whisper
For it will be met with doubt.
Nothing she says will matter
Here, victims become the accused
Like prisoners in a cell of his lies
Piñatas to be abused.
Despite the blood and the maim
He screams, “Consent!”
Like his memory is broken
Or she didn’t know what she meant!
A wife and kids later
He’s still telling her to concede
That he’s struggled, too.
“Please have mercy on ME.
“When NO doesn’t matter
And truth is the “sin,”
Little girls become broken
And monsters made of men.
Your posts really resonate with me. ♥️ And I love your pic on here by the way! It’s feisty and cute 🙂 I look forward to seeing more!!!!