This a requiem to the girl who tried her best. To the girl whose name was forgotten by the lack of its presence. To the girl whose face was burned on the yellowing pages of a yearbook. To the girl who fell in and out of love. To the girl whose body was used as a mere ride. To the girl who was nothing but a box to check. To the girl who was disowned by her own mother. To the girl who is now becoming a mother to a nameless and fatherless child. To the girl who was pushed from her home with her belongings like vultures. To the girl who was just confused. To the innocent Ophelia that she was.

This is a requiescat to the woman who gave her best. To the woman whose womb was abused and sucked dry. To the woman whose labia was stretched open for invaders looking for relief. To the woman whose most holy place became a toilet for a few pennies. To the woman who still believed someone would hold them dear during cold nights. To the woman haunted by the cries of a babe that was never there. To the woman who flaunts herself for her living. To the woman who was lost. To the hopeful Fantine that she was.

That person was I.