By Ashaolu Rose
Beneath the scorching sun
She looked shattered
The world failed to
acknowledge her
Continually dart her
grating words in disguise
Till her end she was
Meant to be a pullet
Not to march with the
opposite
And deep within
Her cries cake up
The creed is: she’s to be
taciturn
When she objects to rules
She’s considered wayward
Prevented to explore the
world
Otherwise to a man she’s
unworthy
Then she thought of her
enslavement
She permitted her
thinking vast
She possesses something
the world Can’t contain it’s magnificent
Eureka! The situation is
here
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