who would have thought?
isn’t that the girl from 103?
she left that scoundrel,
now lives on the east side.

she should be
the pretty girl with the ribbon bow,
shining every day,
dancing until her feet blister,
getting ready with her friends,
singing with joy,
inking in red
a silly smile
on a boy’s cheek—

not crying at nightfall,
afraid of the monster.

he’s already locked away,
watching the sunrise
through bars.

but yours rises round,
burning like fire—
and tells anyone who dares to see:
fear is no longer yours to keep.

no man
will ever again
hold the power
to make you suffer.