Whispering

“I do not want my fragile eyes to see anything more, but my ears are forced to hear it all regardless. Colluding crowds whisper and mutter to themselves. They delight in judging us. We feel obliged to do the things that they believe are right and we are further compelled to avoid those things that they disapprove of, on our behalf. I weep for for all of those young women who suffer in the country that I left behind; my tears are hurtful and bloody. Those cheeks are wet with red for the lost girls who are struck blind and dumb as they labour under the vulgar, unmovable, burden of stale patriarchy.”