Lamb to the Slaughter

Shut her up

She's being too loud when I lay my hands on her

Supposed to just take it like a good girl

Not cry and throw up

Ruining my trousers

It's not fair

We can't be expected to control ourselves

After all we're just animals with basic needs

We have testosterone and need to let it out!

We weren't taught how to keep our hands to ourselves

That bitch is crazy!

It was her fault!

She asked for it!

Wore this

Said that

She's a whore!

Not me

She got pregnant from the priest

Her

Her

HER

LOOK AT HER

She is Nothing, No one

Lock. Her. Up

Throw her in the asylum

Throw away the key

Burn her

Starve her

Forget her existence

Because her story threatens my power

But I'm an excellent liar

And they will listen to me

For I have the money

I own her

and there's nothing she can do about it

So she will rot

************ This poem is inspired by the men who used to lock up their female family members in asylums in Ireland for hysteria without any sort of official examinations. The asylums would be paid for these women residing there and then pocket the money leaving the women in deplorable conditions, next to no clothing, very little food and dirty water. Many women spent their entire lives in these institutions, never to be heard from again. *************