I was called a slut, 
standing there as people 
point fingers at me, 
their eyes filled with judgment, 
their voices sharp as knives. 

They said it was my sin to bear— 
'She must have seduced him,' they said, 
for I wore my innocence like a shroud, 
a victim painted as the villain. 
'It must be her fault,' they echoed, 
for she could have refused to be raped, 
as if the choice was ever mine to make. 

I tried to explain that a choice I wasn't given, 
that I invited a monster into my life 
with just a fleeting smile, 
a gesture that turned into chains. 

But how could I share the weight of my suffering? 
How could I reveal the darkness that enveloped me? 
For even they can't imagine what I had to shuffle— 
the burden of shame wrapped around my heart, 
the silence that screamed louder than words. 

Should I have told them how I begged for mercy, 
my voice lost in the void of their indifference? 
Or were they blind to the bruises that painted my skin, 
the marks of a battle fought in solitude? 

Should I have told them how I cried at night, 
each tear a testament to my shattered spirit? 
Would they have noticed my swollen eyes, 
the windows to a soul crying out for help? 

Should I tell them how I laid there soulless— 
a mere shell of who I once was,  
being used like a rag tossed aside?  
Would they have seen the scars etched deep within me,  
the invisible wounds that throbbed with pain? 

Should I have told them how I screamed into the void— 
each cry echoing off the walls of despair?  
Would they have understood why my laughter felt hollow,  
why joy seemed like a distant memory? 

I wanted to shout from the rooftops,  
to break free from the chains of their ignorance;  
but fear held me captive in silence.  
I wore my shame like armor, hoping it would protect me—  
but instead, it only deepened the wounds.  

In their eyes, I became a story twisted by their minds,  
a cautionary tale woven with threads of blame.  
But beneath the labels and harsh words lies a truth—  
a truth they refuse to see:  

I am not defined by their cruelty;
I am more than what they project upon me.  
In this darkness, I seek my light—  
to reclaim my voice from the shadows of despair. 

For every finger pointed in accusation,   
there is a heart that beats with resilience;   
for every whispered judgment that cuts deep,   
there is a spirit rising from the ashes.  

Let them call me what they will;   
let them weave their stories steeped in ignorance.   
I will rise above their words,   
transforming pain into power;   
and someday, when the world learns to listen—   
they will hear not just my cries but also my song.

---

-gifttaylor