They all ask,so go

They all ask,

so go ahead. 

She always knows it's coming.


"How does it feel?"

It's always snickered,

under breath.

Like the brittle bones of their cowardice

keep them from getting any louder.


Called a prude,

a bore,

a secret whore. 


Flurries of unpleasant words from tongues

she'd rather have sliced off.

"With shorts that short-",

"That drunk-",

"That flirtatious-",

"She asked for it".


In all the death and offal she's seen,

nothing is this vile. 

Hot, dripping rabbit's hearts,

searing doe's innards,

pig heads' pallor,

icy, bulging fish eyes. 


The Goddess of the Hunt, 

the Protector of Young Girls.

Their patron.

But now, what can she do?


Can she simply watch,

and sob at the ceaseless tragedy?

While politicians' restless, sticky fingers slip wads of cash

to women,




Salaried for silence, their throats have been cut. 

Taken for transgression, their voices are gone. 

Ruined for rapacity, revelry, ravenousness.


But the moon will always shine on their faces.

They deserve to be heard.




And with that bow,

still her weapon of choice,

Artemis cannot miss her mark.


With gentle hands,

and gentler words, 

she can begin to heal them again.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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