I am a girl, therefore I'm worthless.
I am a disappointment to my parents.
I am a thing to be sold for profit.
I am property to a stranger.
I am a body used for the pleasure of men.
I am a slave to my promised husband.
"Yes, Sir."
"Yes, Mistress."
These are the only things I'm allowed to say.
If I say anything else I will be punished.
I shall face a punishment.
Several that no one should be allowed to face.
Beaten.
Molested.
Disposed of.
I fear all of it.
But sadly, it would be nothing new.
I shall be punished for simply taking a breath.
I wish to take my final one.
I "belong" in the kitchen, after all.
I have possession of the
I am single,
but I am loved.
I am not a genius,
but I am intelligent.
I am not breathtaking,
but I have beauty.
I am not a saint,
but I am kind.
To the world,
I am not perfect.
But for someone,
I am.
Before you kill yourself... by MikkiMarie, literature
Literature
Before you kill yourself...
Before you kill yourself,
Remember just one little thing.
There are places to go,
Where you have never been before.
How can you be sure those places are bad?
There are things to see,
Things you have never seen before.
How can you be sure those things are ugly?
There is a new tune to hear,
Something you've never heard before.
How can you be sure that tune is scary?
There are words to be said,
Things that have never been said before.
How can you be sure those words are hurtful?
There are dreams to be imagined,
Things you have never dreamed before.
How can you be sure that they are nightmares?
Darling, please don't give up.
Please stay st
The old man in the park by Ridderkvinden, literature
Literature
The old man in the park
There's an old man sitting on a bench in the park.
A scruffy dog by his feet, on his lips a witty remark.
Not a tooth in his mouth, but he smiles anyway.
And if you ask him why, this is what he will say:
“I have a song in my head, and a smile on my face.
I have lived a full life of both sorrow and grace.
I have love so plenty, and stories to share.
And I live my life without a worry or care.”
His wrinkles are a map of a long, lasting life.
Of hard work, three sons, and a now deceased wife.
His hearing may be bad, and his vision turning grey.
But if you ask him, this is what he will say:
“I have seen my share of wonders
Did anyone notice that she winced if you raised your arm?
Did anyone notice that her eyes were wide with alarm?
Did anyone notice that she never looked you in the eye?
Did anyone notice that her voice was but a sigh?
Did anyone notice that her skin was always bruised?
Did anyone question whether she might be abused?
Did anyone question why she walked in obvious fear?
Did anyone question why one day she did not appear?
Did anyone recognize her face on the six-o’clock news?
Did anyone see her remains pulled from the river refuse?
Did anyone care that this quiet girl no longer exists?
No. No one did. And she will never even be missed.
R.I