The night he stripped her of her dignity and left it hidden in the clothes beside her bed, she imploded.
He told her...
"Don't you dare file that rape report."
"No one's gonna believe a girl who wears low cut shirts and slutty shorts."
You see... she has tried to push away his advances but he told her she just needed some convincing.
She was desperate to keep her body out of his hungry line of vision but he said her flirty clothes looked inviting.
You see, it was summer.
She wore a dress to cope with the heat.
But now she tugged at the hem wishing she could bury herself every time he looked her way.
She couldn't bare being his object of desire but soon, soon she would be the target of his attack.
You see, he planted explosives in her identity.
Destroyed her trust.
And now she stood empty.
A blurred outline of a person who lost control of her own body.
His words slicing wounds she thought she had forgotten.
Her throat collapsed like an avalanche.
Trying to speak felt like having a fistfight with the English language.
He told her she was voiceless.
"It was pointless."
"This type of things happens to tons of girls so who's gonna care if it happened to you?"
You see, she was consumed by a silence known all too well in society.
Defined by explaining sexual violence with a sense of triviality.
Excuses.
Reasons.
Victim blaming and slut shaming.
The refusal to grant a woman the rights to her own body.
This is what rape culture perpetuates.
Media's myths and stereotypes producing fallacies and ignorances to be easily consumed by a society.
This is where we stand in opposition.
Sewing up the gaps between our voice and our vision.
We fight under the strength of education and expression.
To crack the silence of every victim.
Because our bodies are not up for your selection.
