The Cry

My eyeliner might have invited you, 
Or the curves I don't care about. 
Maybe the tailor stitched the clothes too tight, 
Perhaps the mistake is all mine. 

My long hair is quite seducing, I fear;
With my almond eyes, I see too clear.
And with every breath I take, I ask;
I am making someone to me attract. 

Of course its my fault. Who am I kidding ?
Of course the blame I bear, I know I shouldn't be living. 
Maybe it was better to be dead in my birth bed. 
Maybe it was better to never have taken my first step.

Now, complaints and pains are all I have, 
To share and to make you understand. 
How much more can I not scream my voice, 
Or wrap my hand around my mouth to hide my cry.

You'll see me weighted, hiding in plain sight, 
My body isn't your game, nor should be my life. 
My sisters lie dead beneath, in the soil I deserve not to live in, 
Our souls killed with each life, with every news, a part of us dies within.

Maybe the problem is us, 
After all, we are sharing the air you breath in. 
Of course, the problem is us, 
Now shall we beg you for our lives and of our kins?