Friday, August 19, 2016


Knock her down for daring to speak, 
so behind it
she feels small.
Though all the world is borne of her,
those doubts of how to stand up tall
are feathers falling from the sky,
a deluge quieting the mouth
of a thousand fiercest songs.
Quell and silence,
or rail against with
spits and barbs and
detest her, though: you don't know her.
Feel threatened by a single voice
that chimes in time with others
just like her,
who have to mute, block, report
as a matter of course,
just so you can have your moment.
Stab and abhor,
cruel catcalls, cries of hate.
Your loneliness radiates where
her strength stays true.
Mute, block, report.
Another day, another unravelling of your spite.
Mute, block, report.
She doesn't acknowledge you,
and gets on with her day.