you don’t look like a victim
you don’t walk and talk and spill truth like a victim
you don’t break under the weight of your own battle scars
so what’s to say you were ever even at war?
what’s that? you’re bleeding?
well heal yourself
don’t get blood on my shirt go bother someone else
your wounds are unsightly i’d rather they fade
keep your pain to yourself carry silence to the grave
i don’t like the landmines you carry in your bones
i’m tired of reaching out and waiting for them to blow
i’m tired of your crying, pull yourself together
but you’re lying if there’s no rain in your claims of bad weather
weather the storm
aren’t women built from what they can endure?
we all give blood so what’s a little more
what’s one more breakdown on the bathroom floor
just clean up when you’re done keep your eye on the clock
why do you spend so much time in rooms that lock?
have you calmed down? good, then i’ll listen
but don’t raise your voice keep those bruises hidden
when have you ever?
i’ve been praying to the dark that you’ll change for the better
that you’ll see that i’m begging to be heard and believed
that you’ll afford me a look and see me, please
if it’s not too much trouble
and if it’s not too much to ask maybe you could echo my voice
speak up for the women that don’t have a choice
it’s easy to say “just leave, problem solved”
and forget there’s no way, throw us out in the cold
trauma never looked pretty so what did you expect?
gift wrapped stories of abuse and neglect?
neglecting to see you’re part of the problem
thinking biting her tongue is what makes a woman wholesome
i didn’t build character on the back of my hurt
i tore myself open, got lost to the world
a world that hates me, innately, and wants me to burn
as you turn your face away from pain and ask
“can you smell smoke too?”
our bodies are crime scenes being dusted for fingerprints
and you have the audacity to say you don’t like the way my skin fits
you don’t like the way my hands shake all these years later
you don’t like that i cried when i bled out onto paper
you got it in writing and it’s still not enough
you want photos and videos of us getting beaten up
as if that’s not fucked up.
and we hand over all that’s left but still it’s not right
the system is flawed by your own neat design
the cities are littered with sisters and mothers
and daughters all slaughtered at the hands of another
you want the perfect victim? just walk out into the street
and take your pick from the bodies strewn at your feet
there’s plenty to choose from.