This is a story of the exploitation apologist
Her clothes were too revealing they will say
She chose to be abused they will add
Never once questioning the perpetrator
The victim is always to blame
The exploitation apologist
It’s my personal choice he will say
What an abhorrent collection of sounds
The exploitation apologist
Normalising and excusing the behaviour of others
The screams that do echo
That helpless feeling felt deep inside
She cannot escape her concrete prison
The exploitation apologist says that’s okay
Confined in small spaces, unable to move
The screams that echo during their march toward the end
The exploitation apologist never condemns,
Supporting and spouting it’s my personal choice
All the way until the end
The murder victim that lies lifeless on your plate
The pregnant mother, how she screams when her babies are stolen
The pig trapped in its stall, unable to move
The chickens lying in shit, legs broken from unnatural growth
The exploitation apologist defends this enslavement until the days end
It’s my personal choice the exploitation apologist will say
The victims of assault shout that they beg to differ
But the voiceless cannot be heard
The exploitation apologists apathy is deafening
They’re on their own journey, the apologist will say
It’s not a personal choice if there is a victim, may I add
Exploitation is always wrong, no matter how inconvenient.
