Women often pay the price of war 
What couldn’t happen to her just opened the door 
His hands, his weight, his rage 
His power and assertion over her 
All his nightmares become her shame 
The stolen man returns over the sea 
His shadow passes through security 
In the shadow, sorrow grows into rage 
Into entitlement 
Into dominance 
Into her debt to pay 
Her voice falls to the floor as soon as it leaves her mouth 
Not an ear hears her cries 
Should she say it, he would be right 
Should she speak it, she would walk in shame 
Should she act on it, it is she who is painted in blame 
Her dignity, her character, her clothes consented to the broken hero 

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