She was neither is shorts nor in a skirt

She still cried for help.

She wasn't too bold or even too quiet

She was still under duress that night.

Her mother in the kitchen making her favorite Bhindi

her father waiting for her

were both unaware of,

How every second of their wait to their little girl

felt like eternity

clinging into her sanity.

She didn't see his

little did she know his name

and if she let the world know this

All she'd be is a scarred picture

he called his.

She was a perfect picture ruined by him and,

Whose picture happens to look a lot like all of ours.

Our no isn't too much to understand after all.