My wounds are fresh
My mouth full of blood
I am tired, as if the air
Is poisoned
The river behind my house is
Full of my tears
I can’t say, Stop!
My eyes rain tears
In the middle of the night
I am not a doll
Not a toy
I am a woman
Respect me
I need to breathe you,
Freedom!
By Norwan
I can imagine a woman saying “stop”… and I imagine the river behind her house runs clean with sweet, healing water…may this immediately be the case for the woman of your poem!