Her Pen, Her Voice
Yesterday, her words were stolen,
carried off by a world that would not see.
No ear to listen,
no place her voice could root,
a voice borrowed by shadows.
They took her courage,
the freedom to move unafraid,
to let her voice soar.
She spoke.
The world twisted her words
laughter shattering over her
like shards of glass.
She learned to watch their eyes,
to shield herself from sharpness,
from the ever-turning circle of judgment.
So she poured her truth into her pen…
it alone could carry it.
No hand could seize it;
her pen held her truth,
where reality breathed.
She is imperfect, simply a woman.
Yet she pardons those who hurt her,
and cherishes those who stayed,
however briefly.
Time passed and her pen became her fire
not simply refuge but a clarion call
rising bold unafraid completely hers.
Her words live on, unbound, indestructible…
bright as sunlight breaking glass.
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