Quilting the Poems

Who am I?

I am killed inside the womb,
yet worshipped on festival.
I am loved like a sister,
yet treated like an animal.

Scorned away from knowledge,
my books are burnt.
Under the rule of men,
my choices are spurned.

Covered from head to toe,
yet considered a distraction.
Free to vote and govern,
yet tied by my own beautiful reflection.

My happiness is staked daily
for a win at the roll of dice.
My smiles are sold in the market
while I work endlessly in quiet.

Who am I, I myself don’t know,
a mother, a daughter or just a hoe?

Written as a response to recent news of rape and government's reaction to it.