He gripped her arm,
He pushed her back,
He held her tight,
He broke her fight.
She cried in fright,
With all her might,
She kicked and flailed,
But in the end she failed.
He took her joy,
He took it all,
He tore her shirt,
And pulled her skirt.
She fought, she fought,
She never stopped,
Not even when he broke her arm,
Not even when he punched her back.
They laughed,
They stared,
They shamed her till she shamed herself,
They watched her as she hated herself.
They called her stupid,
And called her careless,
And she told herself she was worthless,
That she shouldn't have worn that dress.
The dress that she,
Had gifted herself,
It fit so tight,
She'd felt so right.
The dress that she,
Had thrown at the flames,
The shirt already torn,
And the skirt a reminder if her stupidity.
They watched,
They still watched,
And told her she was at fault,
Even as she threw herself away.
I too watched,
In quiet horror,
As the world blamed the victim,
For something she didn't ask for.
I watched and I wished,
Wished she would listen to me,
Listen when I said to her,
It wasn't her fault.
Listen as I screamed at her,
Over the voices in her head,
Trying to pull her back to me,
Listen when I said to her it wasn't her fault.
I screamed louder,
Aching to be heard over the judgemental voices of her neighbors,
Trying to get it into head that,
No, it wasn't her fault.
But one little voice proved far too weak,
Far too soft,
Far too useless,
And I too, watched in quiet horror as she blamed herself,
For something she didn't ask for.
