Woven heart, smaller bones, deeper wounds.
A woman is she.
She deemed strong ,but fragile to affliction.
Proving herself worthy to approach closer to the cusp.
Falling farther down the ranks as tapestry.
Her skin speaks without appearance of open wounds.
Under a microscope scanned for legitimacy, but told she is equal.
Affliction.
A woman she is of use.
Her body a field of open terrain.
Her mind is to think, but no words to be spoken.
Her lips soft, but she is bound not to speak.
She can be broken but expected to heal in silence.
She must move in the direction of crowds, but cannot stand as her own.
She must not announce her voice for fear that she may become a part of collateral damage.
She must shed her clothes, but appear as though she has never been touched.
She must quiet the screams of frustration at society.
If she were to speak she would lose the woman is she.
Affliction.
