Them

We lay them out on tables,
Where each one wants a share
And when our knives slice through their tongues
We smile at their despair.

As meek and frail we see them,
Our power begins to grow
We crush their dreams to great extremes
Leaving cracks for ours to sow

Their bodies and mind belong seldom to them,
For what goes in and out we decide.
Against resistance, we use force, causing unnerving pain
For nothing but fragile, redundant pride

We feel their skin with bestial eyes,
And with words, we tear them down
Be it a toddler or a mother,
Be it in a burqa or a wedding gown.

With fences, we bless them thoroughly,
Like cattle, we live to tame.
Whilst silent spectators amongst us then say,
“Not all men are the same.”

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