She stands tall as hope falls
She breathes still as wind sways
World is an achromatic gloom
She is a woman who sees hues
Her stern ambitions barred
Even when she feels scared
Seldom listened to, ignored
She is a woman who is torn
Through baring her claws
She barely scrapes out alive
Across the jungle of screams
That unite profoundly at night
Shivers run inside her skin
When she hustles through
Indifference of cold hearts
Dares to obliterate her past
Her thoughts are scattered
And her voice is strained
Pushed, plunged, or thrown
But everything is in vain
The often-anonymous writer
Who voiced her loud opinion
The medicine to the wound
She is a fighter renowned
She who witnessed resistance
Yet she still barely fought
Here lies a small ode to her
To another wild, free thought
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