Cassandra

Cassandra speaks the truth
but all we hear
are riddles.

She stands in the ruins
of the battle she lost.
Holds out her arms with
bruises like confessions.

We study their pattern,
shape and color
before asking,
Where is your proof?

Cassandra speaks to Congress.
Testifies on the stand.
Cries on morning talk shows.

Offered sympathy
then called crazy.
We ignore her battered body.

Because we have questions.

If you were groped.
Drugged.
Raped.
Used like collateral
in a rich man’s game.
Why wait so long to speak?

You’re nothing more than a jilted lover
Hungry for attention
and money.
Destroying a good man’s name

But Cassandra keeps talking.
Warning us of danger
to our sisters.
Our daughters.

Cassandra is screaming.
Her world shatters into shrapnel.
When she remembers innocence
before he took it all.

Cursed by the gods,
not of Olympus
but of power and wealth.
Driven to speak the truth,
never to be believed.

But it is better to be ridiculed
than erased.