She didn't log on to bleed.
But your platform,
Your code,
Your culture,
Made her body a battlefield
And called it engagement.
You say “We connect the world”
But who gets tied up in the wires?
Who gets tagged, tracked, doxed, dragged
through your endless scroll,
like a digital witch?
Burned, not by fire
But by likes,
Comments,
Shares.
She posted a photo.
You served her a threat.
She spoke her truth.
You serve her revenge.
You profit from the pain you pretend
to moderate
You know the algorithms
Fed them every click
While she's crying.
You decide what goes viral.
Misogyny,
Is your favourite influencer.
Abuse,
Your most loyal content creator.
We ask for protection,
You give us policies.
We ask for help,
You give us a help centre
With no centre.
Community guidelines,
With no community.
She begs for her suffering to be seen
You flag her for review.
And all the while
The man behind the screen
Is still scrolling, free.
This is not a glitch.
This is not a bug.
This is (by?) design.
This is your design.
Don't tell us you care while you are
cashing your cheques
From trauma you refuse to delete.
Everytime you say,
This does not violate our guidelines,
We see you.
And we are done being silenced
by the systems we use to speak.
You will not earn off our erasure.
Safety is not a feature, it's a right.
And no woman should have to choose
between being visible and being safe.
If you can build a world where hate trends,
You can build one where she survives.
Will you?
Or is she just another casualty
Of your terms and conditions?