My pen was still put on hold,
I didn’t want it to bleed, just not yet…
But I hear the voices of my fellow Queens crying
We want to be heard!
One of our own is gone…
I always look at them and say “such a dark beauty”
They somehow give me a sense of nature
They somehow tell me a lot about the universe
I can’t imagine life without then
One of our own tried to explain her own kind of beauty, but she wasn’t heard.
As much as my pen is bleeding, my heart is too…
Wondering why our self esteem is killed every day?
Wondering why we’re always made to question our self worth, our existence?
Did we really had to lose one of us in order to be seen as “beautiful” ?
Her calm response was not enough
Her words were not enough
Her looks were not enough
Now, her death has touched the entire country!
Is death the only language loud enough?