Alone in the darkness
Drawn into gloom
In the quiet of night
She whispers “me too”
Only existing
An extension of him
Wanting her freedom
She curses his whim
Years of abuse, a
life mapped by bruises
Ignoring her struggle
He just makes excuses
Invisible scars
They mark her story
And trigger the slap,
his hand from her knee
And yet he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Or is it she’s finally
had enough, maybe?
Stories of sisters
Encourage her too
In the bright of day
She now shouts “Me Too”
No longer irrelevant
She finds her power
Blooming through thick mud
A lotus flower
A wave of voices
together as one
Rippling outward
Echoing the sun
One voice, then another
Many women vow,
supporting each other
Is he listening now?
And still he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Or is it she’s finally
had enough, maybe?
He’s listening now
Does he really hear?
Will he ever understand
What it’s like being her?
And when he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Will he finally know
She’s had enough, maybe?
And when he says, ‘She’s
a little bit crazy’
Will he finally know
She’s had enough, maybe?
