She’s always a woman (to me)
Summer Green
Her narrow route is paved with wobbly stones and sticky tar
and is obscured from the sunlight
She manoeuvres her way through the tight gaps of the closing walls,
tiptoeing, as if She were walking on eggshells
while Her skin is scraped and burnt with the friction of Her tightening cage
looking up, She notices the ceiling
looking back at Her
its concrete is laced with disapproving eyes
and cameras that blink and snap as She struggles
heavy breath screams down the silent tunnel,
while unspoken words pool inside Her mouth
voicing them would only scold Her tongue
as She reaches the end, She looks behind Her
and notices him
as he strolls through the same path that had just pulled Her apart from every angle
and told Her to be quiet and squished Her body until it fit the very contours of
its expectations, unaffected.