"She Didn’t Run—She Survived"

A poem for those who are victimized and asked why they didn't do something. You did, you survived.

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She didn’t run.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because there was nowhere to go.

You say you would’ve screamed.

Would’ve clawed, kicked, made a scene.

But when the room is carved from marble and silence,when the locks are invisible and everyone’s in on it,screaming becomes air.

And no one breathes it in.

Epstein’s house in Palm Beach didn’t have open doors.His island didn’t have exits.

And his assistant, Ghislaine Maxwell,

didn’t look like a predator—she looked like trust.

Well-dressed, well-bred, well-practiced

in the art of walking girls into cages

lined with designer wallpaper.

That’s how trafficking works.

A woman reaches out with a smile—not a fist.

She calls you beautiful, offers safety.

Then delivers you.

Sh Survived to tell us the story. Are you listening?

Ask Blue Dragon in Vietnam,

who recover girls sold across the border into China

—girls vanished by women who first earned the family's trust.

A "day trip."

A "job offer."

Gone.

In Canada, we had Paul Bernardo.

But we also had Karla.

His wife.

Who helped.

Who filmed.

Who killed.

Her own sister.

I was just a teenager in Brampton,

blond, in a white Mustang with my boyfriend

—brown hair, soft eyes.

He fit the sketch.

Wrong town but,

they pulled us over again and again,

hunting monsters,

while the real ones sat at home,

clean,

clever,

calculating.

And now we have Trump.

The man who promised to “drain the swamp”

but bathed in the same water.

He once stoked QAnon flames,

said Democrats were hiding pedophile rings

—Then stalled when asked to release the Epstein list.

“People’s lives could be ruined,” he said.

And JFK?

Suddenly, that is urgent?

You’re still shielding ghosts

while the living continue to bleed.

Here’s the bitter truth:

The question was never “Why didn’t she run?”

It’s: Why didn’t you listen?

Why do you ask about escape

instead of infrastructure?

Why do you trust the man in the suit

over the girl in the story?

Why do women—so many women—speak as if survival were a choice,

as if trauma had a script,

as if they were too smart to be victims?

Maybe it comforts you.

To think that would never be you.

That you’d fight.

That you’d flee.

That your strength is superior

to someone else’s pain.

But that’s not strength

.That’s detachment.

That’s cruelty wrapped in confidence.

So let me ask again:

Why didn't she run?

She couldn’t.

And where the hell were you?

Call to Action:

If this poem moved something in you, share it.

Speak it. Question the silence.

Demand the truth.

Because Epstein is dead—but his network, and the rot behind it, is still very much alive.