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I wrote this poem in honor to the 16-year-old girl who unfortunately had to suffer from this horrendous crime.

It’s quite dark, but I hope anyone who reads it appreciates my attempt. 


The Toy

Marked with labels and compared to cows and ducks and chickens.

A blown-up doll wearing a skirt and spirits on her breath.

But you don’t know her.

Flashed by the hollow eyes of a camera as superstars rape her over and over and over.

Beaten with words, slapped by chuckles, used as a condom.

You don’t know her.

Humped lifelessly, simple affection forgotten in the rush, on and on and on again.

Tossed on the ground to pose for more pictures.

You don’t know her.

The broken smile, this beautiful painting of a modern Mona Lisa neglected by arrogance.

Washed away with sweat and semen, ignorance and hate pushing inside her.

This girl you don’t know.

Not even CNN wants to put her back together, because little pieces of the big picture is either lost or mixed in confusion.

Instead they wash the hands of the monsters who devour her.

The girl they don’t know.

Soaking in the hot pool of blood, they leave her to die, like so many daughters.

They never want to hear her shed tears, bathed in red, and they don’t care.

Because they don’t know her.