Bailey Young/The Baron
Hugging my wounds,
curled in this womb,
circling the same old thought,
fighting battles I never sought.
Curled beneath the weight of pain,
my heart bleeds in silent strain.
Actions defy my deepest needs,
lost within unspoken deeds.
Waiting for a shift inside,
yet my existence feels denied.
The world moves, yet I remain,
too numb to dance, too bound by pain.
Flesh turned ghost beneath their hands,
a child unheard, who still withstands.
Altered mind, a drowning soul,
a fractured self, no longer whole.
I was nine, sixteen, eighteen—
yet the truth remains unseen.
My fault was written in my skin,
a woman’s loss before it begins.
I never chose this cruel fate,
to be touched, to bear the weight.
Years have passed, yet still I find
those hands lingering in my mind.
If only I was not a girl,
if only I was not a woman
in a world that lets men take
without fearing what they break.
You stole my childhood, my life,
and left me shackled to your strife.
Now, joy slips through fractured seams,
haunted by the hands unseen.
