No. We’ve served long enough. Enough in free labor, in the form of maid, laundry service, cook, caretaker. Broken down and beaten, ignored, suffered. No. The fire of rage has become wild, instead of contained. Silence no longer suits. Kneeling until our knees shattered and bled. Continuing to bleed and rage and scream, because we are still alive to fight. For a choice. For a life we won’t be forced to throw away. For safety and freedom and breaking the shackles forced upon us by the sick in the guise of the caring patriarchy. We aren’t property to be bought and sold at market. The cacophony of our voices won’t be silenced. Our sacrifice will one day save our daughters, sisters, wives. Our descendants will hear our rage and know the injustices we fought.
After all, the memories are bone deep, caught in the collective of our souls, remembered and stoking the rage we fight with. We are too far to turn back.
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