I am like a dog:
Beaten
No longer struggling to stand up.
I don't lift an arm,
Not even a finger.
Because the fear of a scrutinizing boot
crushes my hand.
I lift my head
Wearily obedient
To my master's grin.
Teeth glistening
And finally satisfied
With her uniform product.
"Sit!", she commands.
I follow orders with my body,
But my mind is numb.
"Roll over!", she sneers,
Because she knows I'll do it.
It is no longer a test,
But a proof of her victory.
She knows I've lost the fight,
and will never fight again.
And just like that,
With a triumphant grin smeared across her face,
She leaves.
And she no longer shrieks her commands
And she no longer forces her will upon me.
I should be relieved.
But I still sit
And I still roll over
Next to hundreds of others
Who do the same.