I am not your battleground,
Not your lawsuit, not your sound.
My ribs do not house your court,
Your robe does not know my worth.
You draft bills in sterile halls,
But never bleed when duty calls.
You quote life with twisted tongues,
Yet cut off care for everyone.
My rights erode in ink and smile,
While you debate me on trial.
No justice grows from forced decree—
Your laws aren’t born, they just police me.
You pledge control, not choice or peace,
But we are rising, piece by piece.
The body politic’s awake—
This rage is real. This womb won’t break.
