013 Consequence

I don't know what this has to do with the prompt. I wrote this entire poem backwards. =/

013 Consequence

You were born of travelling waters, the ocean within the flesh
spilling you forth with the blood of warriors, the breath of poets,
the potential of countless generations waiting to be expressed.

Predators and parasites prowled outside your door,
whispering the horrors that you would come to know,
but if the world is ugly, they're the ones who made it so.

You have heard a billion words of why your life is less,
why your choices are so unclean and your voice must be suppressed,
and by their constant repetition, they convince you that it all makes sense.

So here you are, a veteran of self-deprecation at twenty-three,
your eyes, cold and distant, reveal abandoned dreams
replaced by the mantras of rightwing radio and beauty magazines.

There's a sickness in the system that equates virginity with innocence.
The wickedest knowldge is not in fornication; it is the realization.
Your sex, your skin, your everything - it comes with consequence.