Silenced before I speak.

Six or twenty, does it matter at all? Born to be silent, to kneel, to crawl. A body to take, a soul to ignore, A life unlived—just locked behind doors.

Would I be loved, as much as my brother? Or just another, unseen by my mother? Taught to obey, to bend, to break, While he walks free—no chains to shake.

The dog limps near, its cries unheard, The cat curls tight, small life deterred. The lizard crawls, its tail now gone, All of us used, all of us pawned.

The rapist smiles, the world stands tall, The victim lies cold—was she here at all? I reach the heavens and whisper in pain, "Make me not woman, not ever again."