Consent

My voice is not often loud, despite myself. When I need to speak, fight, and rise, my gaze turns to the moon to comfort me. My friend, Moon, he cares for me. His light wraps around me like a gentle hug when I cannot cope, when I cannot scream, because fear won’t allow me. Fear has made me his captive for so long, so very long. Since a little girl of only 8 years, Moon has guided me, helped me stay strong. If Moon could hold my hand, he would. If Moon could fight them off of me, he would. If Moon was human, my story may be different. Alas, Moon hangs above me, in the sky, every night lighting my way through the pain that I cannot scream from me.