Women's Rights

A deep, dark kindred spider looms to proffer the sentiment, That abuse just objectifies the long persistent winter: Scouring around playfully, but embedded in the night - Two way of seeing it but only one plight. That black body, its piercing eyes drive acutely, In the lengthy web that’s receptive but selfish with quirk, With thin, spindly legs which effect to mobilise, The creature only some befriend to glamourise. We hold to the summer, autumn and spring as the norm, Not winter’s harrowing chill which makes us so often ill; The act of telling someone you've been raped, abused, Should not be a sick kick or a jester’s a thrill. If you don't give us our minds, stance and chirps, You'll just be cushioning that admiring psychologist, Who asks us about physical abuse, sexual, and rape, But who we hate to have as we’ve no trait. Give us our spirits, intellect and powers: Don't glare, glance and glower at our ordinary activities; Equality only exists when you feel it and can tower, In the informal social networks of civil conviviality. And of course, nasty small talk itself causes rape, Violence and abuse which derides and can shape, The heart that reaches out to befriend and welcome, The fence-sitter, the open mind who quietly relates. But if you say physical abuse just objectifies other lesser evils, Like criticising needlessly, cutting us off, and gloating, Then your sick in the head and unforgivable, Because all discrimination is unnecessary and avoidable.