Questions of the tortured

Cursed is that what this is, this womanhood.

Unwanted and looped in disappointment, is that what this feeling is. 

The breakdown of the already broken . 

What do I do that was so bad anyway, cause I remember being tortured. 

And still are. 
Wasn't I born innocent. 
Wasn't I good at taking abuse with good humor, because I thought I did okay, as far as stunted growth gets. 

There getting more inventive I'll give them that. 

The sneaky losses are weighing in and squashing the victim. 

Torture from what I can't have. 
Basic human rights. 
Laws are changing faster than lightning, not in the favor of the  victorious little one. 

Forbidden to not be old enough not to take the lashes. 

The prying eye has a sharp sword. 

Pity and solace make an interesting type of pain. 

Frowning stuck when the wind changed. 

Quietly enraged torturing solid on every tingle. 

Questions raise many things but not esteem. 

Questions about why there's torture hunting. 

Victimized being in the fetal position, for reprieve from the life sentence. 

No one likes the bleeding mess. 

No rescue from how others perceive you. 

And if they see victim, how true would that be. 

Wounded by the  selfish , wounds from the stupid past, trashed by the vindictive system. 

How much types of rape can one take. 

A question the victim feels the angry want answered. 

But dears not to speak there's not a kind word any more. 

Just the constant beating, of  the failed to be noticeable or worthy of the attention of any form of armor . 

Forget it,  fucking to late to care now, hurry up and stop toying with the already dead.