I've heard about Little girls hiding in the small corners of the claustrophobic rooms, hiding their bruises, scars, and blood. Their purity questioned because a man had an organ less.

I've heard of Young women tying scarves, jackets, sleeves, to hide an unnamed crime, committed by nature, fruits borne by the female. I've seen them breathe through the dust, and go through the storm.

I've heard of small girls of 8, innocently staring at the screen, accepting their body, yet seeing their mothers thrown out of the kitchen, caged in their rooms for the supposed sacred 4 days.

I've heard of the shackles made of silver, only purposed to hold the goddess down, blood is impure, stay out ; they scream. I've seen the tiny shrugs and the full-blown tantrums when shrines and holiness are tainted, all because blood from a cervix, is apparently not blood at all.

I've heard of the shameless booing, constant jeers, Millenials at their peak of disaster. Primitive and savage, their progress as mankind is a farce.

But I've also heard of raging lionesses, who can shove a menstrual pad into the face of the Misogynist, bravely scream against their ear, call out their existence. I've seen the fierceness in their eyes, when they go on a full long day, with the pain squeezing their bodies shut.

But they don't back down, they don't succumb. I've heard of little girls, who stand up to their peers and don't crumble under societal norms.

I've heard of raging lionesses, the bravest and grittiest of them all.