Fighter

I am fifteen,

the devil wrote

the winding road

 of this cage.

One feared phase,

smothered in silence;

to out write the devil

 I picked up a pen.

With care I carved

my own road;

which fed words

to my soul so starved.

I am woman,

voiceless and muffled,

a mute point

that I am human.

I am a captive,

To my surroundings

To my circumstances

But I write to fight; freedom.

I am free,

On paper air planes,

With my words

Inscribed on every inch.

Fighter,

I am this word

I am a woman

I am a writer.