Too Much?
Too Much?
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.