Press on

They murder our bodies

Not knowing our souls are eternal.

How silly will they feel

When that day comes.

They’ll see us smiling.

They’ll see us.

Alive.

Unable to be touched.

Beaten.

Manipulated.

Scorned.

Whipped.

Killed.

Then they’ll see.

Then they’ll see our beauty.

All that has always been there.

All that couldn’t be taken away.

Regardless of our bodies position.

Upward or downward. They’ll see our beauty.

But until then.

Press on.