The Birth of a Warrior

She roams, lost in the streets

a hollow casket of who she used to be.

How is it acceptable, robbing girls of their virtue?

Stripping them of their dignity,

regardless of their choices and decisions.

They just take it,

taste it,

bruise it.

Claiming lands that aren’t theirs,

ripping their clothes, leaving them bare.

Twisted blame, mental scars,

metallic spit and galloping heart.

In the end, the best thing you could hope for

is the bittersweet smell of chloroform.

It might break her, but also,

this is how some warriors are born.

Written in Oct 6, 2016.
Prompt: "Write about something that angers you."
M Omena

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