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There was a father.
Who had seen a dream.
A dream for his daughter.
A dream he could not fulfill.
‘cuz of the knighted society
He used to live in.

But he had vowed for his daughter
The she wouldn’t meet,
the same fate as him.
She wouldn’t be offered to society,
Placed on a platter.

He taught her well.
He had to work, yes, harder
He sold his land and left
The knighted village sands.

But he taught her well.
Taught her how to read and write.
How dream and how to fight.
Success she achieved
Brought tears to his eyes.
Cuz his dreams had found light
She begun working
As a physiotherapist in city.
He could not begin to describe
How swelled he was, in pride.

But society couldn’t bear that!
As such, his happiness was cursed.
He received a news.
On a fine happy morning.
His daughter had been *****.
By a group of six
His heart died that day.
A hole left in its place.

Such horrendous was that crime
That my pen stops after every line
But someone has to write
Someone has to fight

According to reports
They had been brutal
Her urogenitals destroyed
Cuz a rod, wheel jack at that
Had been inserted in her womb
A place for the birth of life.
And when they pulled it out.
Her intestines pulled along.

“Something like a rope came out”
The monsters later described.
What were they thinking?
What was running through their minds?
Did they not look into her eyes?
Or they did.
These sick animals
If they did!
How could they do it?
I often claim being unemotional.
Yet I find myself sweeping my eyes.

But these are not tears of sympathy
Or sorrow and sadness
These are tears of anger
These are tears of helplessness
It makes me want to ask
Forgiveness of her.
Cuz’ I couldn’t save her.

We lived cities apart.
We did not know each other.
But I am responsible
Responsible for her.
For what she went through
I know this doesn’t count
But I am really sorry.

A father died that day.
Man died that day.
Mankind died that day
I died that day.

She was strong though.
She was a fighter
She had tried to fight them too.
But they were six.
Vile ruthless criminals
She lost not cuz’ they were men
They were not
She lost cuz’ they were monsters.
But Nirbhaya survived.
For two weeks, death she defied.
Fought till her last breadth
For she had an example to set
A broken father had to be met.
Organs failed her and she lost her breath.

Its been eight years now.
But if you still look into his eyes
You will find hollowness.
You will find horrors of the incident afresh
He has seen a dream
A dream for his daughter
Something for which
he cursed himself now
Wishing he hadn’t
We destroyed a father’s belief
Yes WE are the ones responsible
Cuz’ we don’t fight.
Choose to enjoy our own comfortable lives.

Its funny she got only two weeks to live
And the monsters got years, that too eight
Until they were hanged
But. Did She get justice?
I think not.
Not until this stops.
And it has to.
For each life marred.
Our already bloodied
Hands are scarred.
Mariah Button Jul 2020
Your eyes fall so naturally over the body of every girl that walks by,
And they avoid me like I am diseased meat.
Men are wolves and when tamed, they're dogs.
But dogs still eat meat,
And she is quiet the piece.
This is not a reflection of my emotions towards all men. Just a demonstration of **** culture.
tinnnafish Sep 2019
I think back to when it happened,
to that beautiful day that suddenly became so dark
The day when it all happened,
the day he destroyed who I was
Leaving me shattered.

I fought. I cried.
But it didn't matter how loud I was.
Nobody came to help me.

I still wake up crying,
Freeze when I see him,
And I’m still scared,
every **** day.

I still think I see him,
even while I'm safe at home.
I close my eyes and tell myself it’s going to be ok
But I can't help but feel him.

A year later I still feel him.
His grip on my wrists, the smell of alcohol on his breath,
The weight of his body pressed against me as I tried to get away

He just continued,as I cried.
It didn't matter how loud I screamed,
Nobody came to help me.
I wonder

How the girl
In the stall to my left
Weeps into a bundle
Of toilet paper
For she simply got under an A
On a test.

Whilst the girls
In the stall to my right
Speak casually
About their experiences
Of being *****.

More than once.

And by the same man.
Minaj Nov 2018
It is a murky unsympathetic night; the air is dense but so brittle. The city’s lights are glaring while the buildings are pellucid. The clubs are radiating with pandemonium most can’t seem to ignore. It’s a Friday night, a chaotic age restricted night. Both predators and prey invade the avenue. Walking through is Jane Doe. Tall slim and slightly inebriated. Attached to her skin are stitched together materials snug, satisfying but fleeting. As she prowls, the materials bind and elevate revealing her dermis. Beyond the noise, she hears phrases towards her, rotating her abdomen as she becomes livid but intimidated. Jane accelerates but the stilettos restrict. As she walks faster so does the brute, until finally their paths collide. Jane meets his cold malicious iris. Before altering directions, his callous filled hands swiftly but suddenly snatched her confidence and depth. Her figure jolts as he infiltrates her physique. Others observed nonchalantly and attentively whispering “she has received the appropriate consequences” based on the apparel draped over her figure.
Emily Archer Aug 2018
‘i love you’ dripped from his tongue like honey, thick and sweet,
i ******* hate honey,
it made my thighs stick to the seats in the back of his car,
coated my throat so i couldn’t say no.

he didn’t love me
he loved using me whenever
he needed to
***.

-B.P
Laura Aug 2018
It's difficult to be pretty in this world
Because when you're pretty
You get *****
Because men don't know how to control themselves
Because when you're a man
You don't have to
Men are commended
For impregnating women
And being masculine rapists
Women are shamed
For getting pregnant
And being *****
Women were asking for it
Women should have known better
Women are supposed to be prepared
Nobody tells men not to ****
We hope it's common sense
But then we don't reprimand them
Because boys will be boys
But why can't boys be nice boys
And keep their hands to themselves
Stop hurting young women
Who really don't want to be *****
I don't know why
Men keep ****** women
It isn't fun
Nobody is asking for it
The definition of ****
Is *** that isn't asked for
But guys do it anyway
Because women are too afraid
To speak up
To live in this world
Ruled by ****** men
Courtney Jun 2018
A girl lies naked, bruised and bleeding on the bathroom floor. She’ll say she was ***** but it’ll be her who’ll take the fall. The football team will still play that Friday night and she’ll be accused of telling hysterical lies.
“She was breaking the dress code” you were breaking the law, violation of the law gets you a court sentence but rich parents get you good lawyers who get you off free, she’ll never be free to walk the streets home alone fearing that every time she looks into a man’s eyes she will see the image of you as she prayed for help but was instead preyed on by the Prom King Predator.

Her bruises whether they be physical or not are hers to reveal and if you feel the need to go around telling her story then you’re an ***, “she had a sweet ***” you had sweet talk which made her feel safe and then suddenly she felt betrayed. So she’s a ***** if she sleeps with a guy even if it wasn’t consensual but when you sleep with a girl you’re a playa and did a good job on hitting that; you going to bang her? ***** her? Nail her?

The words used to describe it are almost as violent as the act done upon her.

There was pain in her voice but her body betrayed her, it portrayed pleasure when all she felt was agony. The pain in her voice was clear to those around her but the pleasure was all they focused on, the pleasure is what caused her the feeling of being ashamed for the next four years until she could open up to someone.

Around school she was known as the quiet girl, the girl without a story, this was true in a sense because her story like most was never told.
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