It’s strange how the same old narratives seem to play out in cycles, with some men hiding behind power and privilege. But can they truly silence the fight within?
When the system fails you, your rage gets a veil,
But oh, it’s fine—you’re a man, after all, you prevail.
How could they wrong you, the self-proclaimed saint,
Now it’s revenge as you brush over your taint.
Justice for your man, you cry with a roar,
But trample another for your pleasure’s encore.
You seek power, and money—oh, such a climb,
Oppress your own roots, isn’t that prime?
You feel elite now, part of the “meat,”
Favours on call just to keep things discreet.
But please, spare the theatrics, it’s old, it’s trite,
Men like you won’t define my fight.
I’ve lived in your shadow, your towering threat,
But none of your games can make me forget—
You silence my laughter, but never my choice,
And none of your power will silence my voice.
They can play the power game, but what happens when we stop playing by their rules? Do you think we’re bound by their definitions of power and control?
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