Once upon a time, a story was told:
left on the ground, lonely and cold,
A wounded angel, screamed for pity.
“It was her own fault” said the committee.
She was just sixteen but no one cared.
It didn’t matter that she was scared.
People watched her as she was pleading,
they remained silent when she was bleeding.
Just like her future, her voice was lost
When people defended “athletes” and lust,
“Promising futures” were all that mattered
More than the girl who was raped and battered.
© tst, 2013