Etch not unto her pliant flesh,
Cruel marks of your monstrous desire.
She bears your atrocities, with silent rage,
Her spirit, though wounded, never does tire.

Her body is not your canvas of pain,
Nor a vessel for your twisted delight.
In her heart, she carries your stains,
Yet, her soul continues its valiant fight.

Her silence does not mean consent,
Her tears are not a sign of weakness.
She's a warrior, her courage never spent,
Her resilience, a testament of her uniqueness.

So, etch not unto her pliant flesh,
Your monstrous desire, she does not require.
She's a woman, not a toy to be messed,
Her spirit, your atrocities will never tire.


© OpheliaOnyx®©