Justice is dead.

for as the woman lowers her head in shame
the world weeps and mourns for the devil
that haunts her in the dark,
in her dreams,
and in between her thighs
night after night
day after day.

Justice is dead.

For the "protectors" of justice
spit on the woman who simply
decided to drink warm wine
and have a good time.

But only slap the wrist
of the man who committed
an unspeakable crime

who dared to enter the sacred temple of woman
without her permission

but as history tells,
man have never respected the body of woman

there is a deep hell awaiting this man.

Justice is dead.

For strangers chase the women into the mouth of hell
as they embrace the devils that raped them
For strangers crucify the woman for their "sins,"
but isn't rape a sin?

Oh wait,
woman has been blamed, scorned
and crucified for a fictitious woman
who bite into an apple that wasn't meant for her.
Woman and her body
have been the place for men to cast blame for centuries.

For that fictitious sin, woman have been left to bleed
to suffer, and to bear the sins of man
while man dances around the chains
of justice and spit in her face
and tear into her flesh
until she is no more.

Justice is dead.

Dedicated to the victim of the Brock Turner case as well as the many other rape victims who never got the justice they deserved. We failed you; you deserve better.

I had written this poem in order to evoke strong emotions in the readers. I want my audience to be angry and I want them to cry; more importantly, I want them to reflect. I want my audience to reflect on why I chose to write a poem like this and to consider the circumstances that led me to use the phrase "justice is dead."

I want to shock, but more importantly, I want to bring awareness through strong and perhaps grotesque imagery because often times, the most powerful lessons often do not come from political debates or protests, but from art.