They
Laugh
Strangle her voice into a whisper.
Bleach her teeth perfect
Their gloved hands inject poison.
Her eyes
Burn
She cries
As they twist her
Into their perfect playground
And hand her a lollipop to keep her silent
Candy is only for well-behaved girls.
She lives in an old house.
Dust. Layers
Paper Promises
Stile the stench of blood.
Crumbing,
Memorialized rules tell her
All that she cannot be because of what is between her legs.
She holds a match
But the revolution is not found between her thumb and forefinger
She is angry
But they dismiss her anger as melodrama
She has a seat at the table
But it is a folding chair
That breaks under the weight of her representation.
Glass shards.
Behind the ceiling
There is a concrete wall.