* * * * * Do what you love.* * * * *
(*warning - triggering subject matter)
Cry me a river.
Okay, so they forgot it was your birthday.
What’s the big deal?
Not quite the sweet-sixteen you expected, but
...it was sure cheaper than one of those Sweet-Sixteen blowouts that seem to be the norm now.
Spending your birthday alone in the park by the railroad tracks, eating a Little Debbie Cake and sulking.
Alone until that boy showed up.
Speaking of the norm, why is it that getting raped seems to be treated as normal?
Oh, boo-hoo. Cry me a river.
Next time, maybe you’ll think twice before leaving the house with your tits
(I hated how they used the word "tits," as if a woman's breasts were dirty.)
...hanging out for all the world to see, the Defense Team’s entire stance.
Those people have never woken up feeling shame with nightmare-swollen eyes.
They don’t know what it feels like to awaken each morning, young and beautiful with the whole world at your feet,
and to finally step out to create a new life—completely covered—wearing long-sleeved turtlenecks and baggy jeans.
Then, to finally realize, it wasn’t the clothing you wore; it was the sickness of the college boy.
Let them laugh at your bungling ways and shyness and aversion to men wearing Izod shirts.
Now, there are not enough clothes in the world to cover wounds that are invisible.
By Lisa H. Owens
April 22, 2021
A Micro-fiction directed at the injustice of certain crimes against humanity.