Girl With Four Names.

Straps.
Shush, my girl,
It’s an open trap.
Your modesty is,
Hanging by a strap.
Tuck it away,
They shouldn’t know.
You wear one,
But it cannot show.
Don’t say the word,
It’s not allowed,
They’ll shame you now,
And call you flawed.
They’ve forgotten
Where it all began
The woman came,
From the side of a man.
Beneath those straps,
Under all that skin,
A rib that was taken,
From him within.
To keep him company,
And stand equal,
But, shush, this gap,
Is yet to fill.