Kneeling, not in a cathedral,
but somewhere between nothing and someone,
where a tribunal knowing only how to sit,
told her she was no one, had no right to exist,
no right to love,
no right to persist.
If she wasn’t there then why did they care,
why take pieces of who she could have been?
They took it all with cruel intentions,
forfeited trust and aspirations,
she became a memory,
walking in oblivion.
©April 2018, Christina Anne Hawthorne