There were whispers, whispers about a girl.
One who watched herself burn,
who never spoke out.
I never thought they were true, until I saw her.
She sat there, pinky up, quiet.
Looking in a mirror, just watching herself catch fire.
Watching her, her and her set fire.
It was a sight too much to bear for me.
But, she didn't stir, she didn't so much as twitch.
She just sat there, like he told her to.
So she obeyed. Watched everyone burn her.
In the end no one was left, the ones who fought had
given themselves up to him, him and him.
As I watched her watching him burn everything she was,
I knew that if she said something, even a word.
She wouldn't have burned, wouldn't have belonged to him
merely an object. I knew she knew that too,
knew that if she had opened her mouth and shouted out
anything, even only a four letter word, had she not stood back and watched him ruin
her, her, and her, she wouldn't have burned.
But she didn't, because he told her not to.
And as I walked away from the fire, the awful aftermath
of her silence, I vowed to not be quiet, to not be scilenced by his match
no matter if I am at a stake, Marching through the streets,
or with a bullet through my head,
I will not be silenced.