Hysteria

Hysteria…

They called it madness,

They called it sin.

A husband’s word was iron,

An asylum her coffin.

She cried in silence, locked away,

For daring to feel, for daring to say.

Her body unloved, her mind denied,

Her spirit broken—yet never died.

If a woman wept, they said she was insane,

Locked her in shadows, dismissed her pain.

Didn’t learn her body, didn’t learn her fire,

Left her cold in a marriage, in a funeral pyre.

Neglect from the times, neglect from the bed,

Every plea for touch—they called it in her head.

A “cure” was an orgasm, stripped of its name,

As long as no man was there—it wasn’t the same.

Hysteria!

They chained our voices, burned our flame.

Hysteria!

A prison built on fear and shame.

But we rise from the silence, we break through the lies,

No longer discarded—our fire survives.

The second machine, born of the spark,

Served women abandoned, left in the dark.

Vibrations disguised as a doctor’s cure,

For human hunger they could not endure.

It wasn’t his fault, it was the age,

But silence and shame kept us in a cage.

Sex was his right, but not her need,

Our passion erased, our voices deceived.

Hysteria… hysteria…

(do you hear them cry?)

(do you hear them burn?)

How many centuries—before we learn?

WE WERE NEVER INSANE!

IT WAS YOU!

YOUR FEAR! YOUR CHAINS!

YOU LOCKED US AWAY—

BUT WE STILL REMAIN!

Hysteria!

The word has faded, the silence cracks.

Hysteria!

No more cages, no turning back.

Now we choose our lovers, our toys, our voice,

Now we claim our bodies—our sovereign choice!

The term barely lingers,

Its meaning erased…

But we remember the women,

Forgotten, displaced.

Hysteria… hysteria…

No longer a curse,

But a ghost in the mirror—

Reminding us first:

We are alive,

We are free,

And our fire will never

Be silenced again.