I am not Lucrece. I am not Lavinia.
You cannot cut out my tongue
if the truth of the words that I speak
causes you discomfort,
if the way that I unapologetically carry myself
brings you unease.
You cannot minimize my significance.
You cannot trample upon my flame.
You cannot silence me
for, when I speak,
I verbalize the communal pain
of thousands upon thousands.
Muteness would be mutiny,
and that is an act I refuse to perform.
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