They say we are free,
But what is freedom when our bodies are questioned
before our voices are heard?
When our names are debated
as if identity is a matter of opinion?

They call it a misunderstanding,
but what is there to misunderstand
about hands that take without asking,
about silence twisted into consent
by those who have never had to be afraid?

Some wars are fought with guns,
others with laughter that says, boys will be boys.
With laws that ask what we wore,
with whispers that turn blame back onto us.
With families who look away,
choosing convenience over truth.

A body is not a battlefield,
but tell that to those who treat it like one.
To those who call it kindness
when they strip away choice.
Who rewrite our truths,
erase our names,
reshape us with their rules
until we are unrecognisable
even to ourselves.

So, tell me, what is freedom?
Is it the silence after violence?
Is it love forced into the right shape?
Is it the right to exist,
but never the space to breathe?

Let there be no more wars fought in our names,
no more voices erased in the quiet.
No more bodies claimed, taken, debated.
We rise, loud and unafraid.
Our bodies are our own,
whole, unbroken, free.

Cover image: Photograph by Dallas Reedy on Unspash