Because she was born as a girl

From a child still learning the word mother

to a woman whose hair has turned to prayer,

the violence does not ask for age.

Three months old

tell me, what dress did she wear?

Eighty years old

tell me, what desire did she invite?

If clothes are guilty,

why do cradles become crime scenes?

If silence is consent,

why does screaming still go unheard?

Every day,

a girl is taught fear before freedom.

When she is hurt,

the world turns its finger toward her—

Why were you there?

Why did you trust?

Why were you born a woman?

And the accused walks free,

his name protected,

his future untouched,

while the victim carries shame

that was never hers.

What justice is this

where fathers betray blood,

brothers break bonds,

homes become hunting grounds?

What kind of society

calls these monsters “men”

and calls survival a burden?

Why are the guilty hidden

behind power, patriarchy, and delay?

Why are victims pushed toward silence,

toward death

as if erasing them

will erase the crime?

She did not ask for this body.

She did not invite this pain.

Her only “fault”

was being born female

in a world that fears her existence.

This is not fate.

This is not culture.

This is cruelty dressed as normal.

So let the questions rise like fire:

Who protects her?

Who believes her?

Who will punish the evil

instead of burying the truth?

Enough of asking women to endure.

Enough of teaching girls to disappear.

Let the revolt begin

not with blood,

but with justice.

With laws that bite,

with voices that refuse silence,

with a world that finally says:

She deserves safety.

She deserves dignity.

She deserves life.