Knock knock.
It has been talked
about day after day.
But this time I hope
you actually hear.
Knock knock, it is about rape.
Since the days of nursery I am draped in fragile pink. The
choice was never mien, but this is how it was meant to be.
Oooh pretty little girl keep your hands off the mud and
those current carrying wires. Ooooh pretty little girl did you get hurt?
Yes I was hurt.
Why did you not think, if the pretty girl who was no more
little, was hurt, when you ripped off her dress and thrust inside her without
any rest.
You return, thinking it was your right.
The pink colour choice was never mien, then how can I expect
you to ask me if I wanted to join.
The rapes have been happening, and the people have convinced
themselves that it was she who asked for it.
Did her walk, her talk, her short skirt, her visible breast,
her red lipstick, her open hair, her clothes layers, her curvy waist ask for
being raped?
Oooooh pretty girl. You in full sleeves clothes, hair in
braid and flat chest have also been raped.
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