In the bus, the train, in the back alley, the lane;
She
analyses every person as if she is insane,
The
key between her hand turns her knuckles white,
She
angles her route according to the street light
As
she calculates her distance upon time.
If
something happens she will be blamed for the crime
She
measured her clothes
The
circumference of her neckline
The
length of her skirt
Because
the men were taught it equates her worth.
She
never spread her legs
They
were pried apart,
Everyone
saw her body
Nobody
fixed the broken heart,
But
the heart didn't even break
It
was her soul that shattered
Cause
no one talked about what truly mattered.
Her
body, her soul, her mind nothing she could call her own
And
yet some men have the audacity to blame it on her phone.
To
summarise it all,
She
continues to live having hidden behind a wall
Because
if someone saw even a bit
She will be the one asking for it.
-Tisya
Comments
Post a Comment