Her Fault?

They told her early before she even understood what the words meant
“Sit straight, speak softly, don’t draw attention.
Don’t look them in the eye, or you’ll invite trouble.”
A set of rules handed down like a burden,
A weight she carried before she could make sense of the world.
No one ever whispered those rules to the boys.
No one told them, “Don’t tease, don’t touch,
Respect her space, respect her voice.”
Instead, they brushed it off — “Boys will be boys,” they said,
As if bad behavior was something natural to them,
As if her discomfort was just the price she had to pay.
She walked on the streets but never felt safe,
Tried to shrink into the background,
But the stares found her, and so did the hands.
At school, they called her beautiful,
But it wasn’t her heart or mind they noticed.
It was something else, something they thought they could claim.
Every glance, every whisper felt like a cut,
Slicing into her sense of self.
They blamed her for the attention,
As if just existing was an invitation.
“It’s your fault,” they would say
“For how you dress, for how you walk”
Or maybe for just being there?
She, like everybody else, had the same uniform on.
Somehow, though, they made her the target
She wanted nothing but to blend in, to laugh, to breathe.
But they made her feel like she was sinning.
At school, the whispers became sharp words.
Their little code words were more brutal.
The boy she thought was a friend.
The one who smiled, whom she trusted,
He just sat there silently
Never stood up for her, nothing was ever said.
And so she wept in secret,
In shock, after being disappointed.
She blamed herself for how the world treated her.
The impression she had had with her since she was little.
“Pretty face,” they said. “Comes with a price.”
But was it her fault? What had she done to deserve this?
Then came love, at least, what she thought.
He whispered sweet nothings, made promises that sparkled,
But there was something very dark beneath the façade.
His words turned into weapons, love into a charade.
To tie her up and make her doubt her feelings.
She knew if she walked away, the world would blame her.
Blame her for his mistakes, his lies, his temper.
But staying? Staying would mean losing herself.
It meant watching her light fade,
Witnessing her spirit slowly and terribly,
disintegrate under his cruelty.
So, she battled.
Every day, she battled within herself.
To stay or to break free.
In the end, her heart knew it.
So she broke the chains,
And, as she had dreaded,
The world turned against her, drowning her in strains.
Called her “characterless,” stripped her of her dignity.
But where were they, when she cried alone at night?”
Where were they when she could not sleep?
How long was she waging her silent war inside the mind?
Nobody embraced her,
No one whispered in her ear, “It’s not your fault”
She had to pull herself out of the darkness.
She rebuilt herself, piece by piece.
And through God’s grace, she was led.
But belief? Belief in the world?
That was a long time gone.
A world that only saw what it wanted to see.
A world that turned its back when it mattered most?
She is now happy, strong, and free.
But can she trust anyone again?
In a world that still believes it’s always her fault?

.    .    .