The Story She Holds
Dinner with beasts served in lies,
Blood on the table, a haunting feast,
They see our bodies as moving yeast.
All known and yet untold,
Questions abound, "What's the story you hold?"
Then make us adorn and dance for one's desire,
Where their eyes bleed lust, us engulfed in a mire.
Our women deemed cattle, youth tainted by strife,
Do they profit from ignorance, this dishonored life?
Must the horror touch one's own mother, sister, or kin,
For empathy to awaken, for change to begin?
Injected with poison of life in dead,
The torture doesn't seem to end,
In months to come, a child will birth,
The story will repeat, just someone else's first.
Unless the child fits their ideal,
A promise of torment, a surreal ordeal,
Murder paraded, draped in godly grace,
And if by chance left to live, just another dying to face.
Blood on the lineage, society, and sons,
Paid to preach such horrid runs,
No cosmic hell, our own world it's spelled,
Woven of darkness, and filthy men.
The change they say is nothing but a decorated mirage,
One women spared hides the story of hundreds of sabotage.
And when we stand up to fight, head strong and confident,
All the pen!s around are offended.
Pain painted in honey and stevia is art,
But when actually called 'abuse', an villanizing dart,
Still I hope from this somber narrative, we glean,
A plea for compassion, a world to redeem.
Powerful
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