Olivia Benson
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Some monsters get handcuffs. Some get courtrooms,cells,a number where their name used to be. And somewalk out the fucking door. Twenty years later,I still remember the boynobody could savebecause grown men had money,lawyers,and enough silenceto bury the truth alive. Billy Tripley walked. The detectives knew.We knew. But knowinghas never been the same thingas proving. So…
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She has heardevery version of hell. Children whisperingwhat monsters didbehind locked doors. Women apologizingfor surviving. Men swallowing shamebecause someone taught themvictimhoodhad a gender. Still,she sits beside them. Still,she lowers her voiceinstead of raising it. Still,she looks into facesthat have forgottenhow to trust and gives themone thingthe world already stole— choice. There must be nightswhen every…
Between Bruises & Blooms 