Photo by Rifqi Ramadhan on

Her skin but a carpet for others to stomp
Her heart but a slinky, a toy or a top
Her soul is not seen
Her cries go unheard
Her feelings are said, but they don’t speak a word.

Her skin it now boils
Her heart simply pounds
Her soul it is shattered
Her cries are pronounced.

Her feelings are hurt as she crumbles inside
Her life it might live if her body it died.

Her throat though it burns from her well-silenced voice
Her mind it repeats this is not the right choice.

Her skin becomes thick
Her heart but a brick
Her soul it is shook, but her spirit is fixed.

Her feelings they go as another day comes
Her life it is hard, but she only lives once.

Her people can’t step on the scales of her skin
Her heart though it pours they will not be let in.

Her shaking rebalanced
Her trembles a force
Her mind now a stream
Her soul from the source.

Her birth comes again
Her spirit it grows
Her score is forgotten
Her river it flows.

Her tears in the ocean a sprinkle of rain
Her pain divides waves as her strength it is gained.

Her carpet released as a rug for her feet
Her skin slowly sheds all the ache and defeat.

Her body a wall from the stones that were tossed
Her self becomes found from the version she lost.

Published by notapeepbutlotsofpaper

A silent voice with lots to say. I speak with pens to stay away.

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