March, 8.

March, 8,
I woke up and puked
on the soil,
it drew my continent,
a closer look and I could see,
women raped,
women assassinated,
women abused,
women humiliated,
women discriminated,
women used,
women exposed,
women decorated…
I wept and threw water,
till everything got clean again,
maybe that’s what we should do,
Drink from the same devil’s cup,
allow ourselves to cry together,
once drunk enough,
break the chains,
you know what happens when a star comes to life,
we will have gold to pluck.

Thilleli G.

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