Lost in city splendor, wealth and excess, I notice frail creatures walking up steps. None await their return, it defines their existence, a pain with no remedy, it' s all too consistent. This story is no different from the millions without name, the setting has changed but the plot stays the same. A depressing tale riddled with scars, from street corner to bed or the back of a car. A victim of bias, of dreams derailed, she need not speak, her tears tells her tale. An unblemished soul made ugly by strife, constant humiliation, this is what she calls life. A beautiful women lost under stars, a daughter, a sister or mothers of ours. This woman believes their worth to be lost, and in her despair she now comes at a cost. Silent cries of abuse that none can console, night in and night out, it has taken its toll. Given a glance then a dance, displayed, put on hold, ignorant to the fact she is worth more than gold. Her value is priceless and yet she is still sold, product of patriarchy, an institution of old. Radiance is not finite, it's not meant to rot, but physical beauty is all she's been taught. Money and status, she was told to pursue, how she's treated is minor, it lacks carnal value. Birthed from the uterus, the vessel of life, to have bitter irony cut like a knife, told the world was hers, any dream can come true, her destiny decided by pink or by blue. But take these words with a grain of salt, validity follows compliance, you are also at fault. fundamentally different in shape and design that does not make you weak, we must draw a line Mans key to survival, completing the fold, 2 parts to one being you finish the whole.
