When I am at school, I feel so free.

Energetic and joyous, like a tree

That hasn’t met the cruel axe,

I smile, knowing I’ll be free as an unchained ox.

They say home is where the heart is, but mine

Doesn’t dwell there, but elsewhere, in tandem,

Where I can be myself,

Where torture is not the anthem.

I’m a girl, young, maybe in my twenties, or middle-aged,

I no longer know my true worth

In this arena where I am treated like a gladiator,

In what I call home, but feels like ancient Rome.

I am a slave to my father, brother, and uncle.

Tell me, who should I call

When I am being crushed and bruised?

Everyone around me is a threat.

I can’t even eat comfortably at the ‘family’ table

Without someone’s hand molesting me.

Where should I run to?

How can I tell you, and will you believe me?