By Ciéra Cree
In commemoration of ‘International Women’s Day’ 2021.
Disclaimer: This piece is not published with the intent of pushing any personal agenda.
plagued by her thoughts; an unfamiliar voice utters words of depreciation that permeate the silence the depths of her mind etched out in a cross of grey smudging her opinion & craftily painted lips colour staining porcelain skin is she worth more than this? she holds a touch that’s feather-light & sleek as a ballroom floor a symbol of fragility encased in a false serenity adorning her heart on her sleeve as she paces relentless streets filled with dark corners & societal mourners grouped in an atypical fleet protest leaks from the edges of delicately pencilled eyes fluttering from the lashes of an unbound compromise why should women have to disguise & present themselves with a mask, to be a walking “pop of colour” with a mind kept sheltered in the dark? one hundred years of silence & a proudly retained composure held together with a smile & the promise of change creeping ever closer she isn’t just an object which is easy on the eye she’s not merely a victim failed by a system that doesn’t try to mediate opinion & value individual worth for this girl is wholly human & that’s what should be put first