unwrapping presents, saturday morning cartoons, ice cream trucks
poptarts, transformers, barbie dolls
handball, dodgeball, monkey bars
nintendo 64 and playstation
the troops and send them out,
if they try and run shoot them down
hurry, crouch down! why did you pick the piano as a hiding spot he's going to count to twenty any minute
we spent was either fighting, training, getting beat or getting raped,
any of the soldiers could use us as property and as soon as they saw breasts developing on the girls they
would force us to be slaves, and kill us if we disobey
me again and i will ground you for a week! that means no games, no online chatting, and definitely
no going out i can't believe you would lie
close to the ground, brother, the bush will hide us just don't make a sound
out the word sis! it's not that difficult, come on, li-ber-ty
seemed so far away when your eyes adjusted to the violence and spontaneous
deaths of those around you, like the weapon in your hands became your heartbeat
and bullets the only solution
A is that you flirt and try to get his attention and make it obvious you want to go to the dance with him,
solution B let your other friends drop hints so
i couldn't run away because i was so filled with fear, i saw them kill my father in front of my very eyes
and rape my sister and tell me from now on i was a soldier
boy up in this oh, watch me crank it watch me roll
watch me, hear me, save me from this war,
because i'm 6 and there's weights in my soul that i can't understand,
why i am being forced to dig up chips and kill my friends
and see bones and flesh hear bombs and screams
falling from the sky like rain i used to dance in
we see you, we hear you, and dear child we will free you.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Princess
Darra
I stand with your story clenched in my fist but no sound comes out
Darra,
I will sit down in a few minutes and the music will play again.
Darra,
I raise my voice in the ears of these people but you cannot hear me
because you are screaming into walls that are carved by your fingernails
muffling the sounds of 20 rupees,
another one, who bought the right to
rip open your wounds, for the 100th time
so the assembly line starts and first
he disassembles your heart
like clothes don't belong on an object,
and the objective is pleasure and tools work best
when they are deaf, mute, and blind
so this man doesn't see your eyes,
when you are pleading him to stop,
his hands melding obscenities into your flesh
with every emotionless remark
as if he could do this forever, not knowing your name,
or the faintest taste of shame
every touch stealing something from the treasure box in your soul,
that you've stored since your first breath,
sometimes you wonder if there is anything left.
and every day after the 8, 10, 12 hour shifts you try to gather the pieces
for tomorrow,
because to your owners one shower makes
everything clean
but what is water and soap rushing down your skin
when the lusts of a thousand men devour, damage, desecrate you from within
and what is time when every second is measured in
bruises, thrusts, and clients? I am so sorry,
Darra,
because I thought miles could excuse me from action
Darra,
you are not a commodity
even though you are locked from within a community that puts a price
on your neck, and traded your thoughts for function
your family for foreigners,
and your lover for murderers.
Darra,
you've traced those peeling walls with hands that have lost all sense
of touch,
heart only strong enough to contain flickers of hope,
but i believe there's a heart on fire out there to ignite your soul once more,
that where walls are traced by pencil marks
the bold can be found, hiding behind graphic tee shirts and loud headphones
told that injustice will just persist, that our lives are worth more than the risk
of turning down the music to hear the orphan cry,
or the beggar sing, that our lives are worth more than the time to bring a child back to life, or to restore the right of privacy to those living on their knees.
Darra,
you are more than a statistic or a tragedy, but you breathe
you feel, your heart beats while i read,
and you have stories and dreams and a history
Darra, could I confess of your beauty that even women freed
sometimes fail to see?
That you are fearfully and wonderfully made, in an image
that make even the richest skies, deepest seas, tallest mountains pale in majesty.
You wear a crown of thorns and chains that weigh you to breaking,
but no rapist can steal away your treasure in jars of clay,
make a mark upon a slate that has been washed as white as snow,
drown out the sound of symphonies that have been sung over you
by the Ancient of Days, promises of old
Darra,
you see your worth ripped out of your soul, thrown on the ground
and trampled by the intruder's smile
but neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
can take His love away from you.
i refuse to blame sovereignty for the crimes of humanity
cause he's given us hands and feet and a sense of justice to even question his divinity so i believe that he always has, and always is, and always will be on our side, the question is will we arise, and fight?
for once upon a day prostitutes were restored their dignity by eyes that loved enough to give beauty for ashes, life for death,
touched by hands that did not bruise a reed, if but to have a tear wiped away
once upon a day the rocks shook and the mountains split,
and the divide was bridged and
now by his wounds,
we are healed.
Darra your name in Hebrew means princess,
and though we have but scraps of armor,
the night will soon be shining,
for light seeps through even the smallest of crevices,
Darra
I stand with your story clenched in my fist and others stop to listen
Darra,
I will sit down in a few minutes and the music will be put on pause.
Darra,
we are coming for you.
I stand with your story clenched in my fist but no sound comes out
Darra,
I will sit down in a few minutes and the music will play again.
Darra,
I raise my voice in the ears of these people but you cannot hear me
because you are screaming into walls that are carved by your fingernails
muffling the sounds of 20 rupees,
another one, who bought the right to
rip open your wounds, for the 100th time
so the assembly line starts and first
he disassembles your heart
like clothes don't belong on an object,
and the objective is pleasure and tools work best
when they are deaf, mute, and blind
so this man doesn't see your eyes,
when you are pleading him to stop,
his hands melding obscenities into your flesh
with every emotionless remark
as if he could do this forever, not knowing your name,
or the faintest taste of shame
every touch stealing something from the treasure box in your soul,
that you've stored since your first breath,
sometimes you wonder if there is anything left.
and every day after the 8, 10, 12 hour shifts you try to gather the pieces
for tomorrow,
because to your owners one shower makes
everything clean
but what is water and soap rushing down your skin
when the lusts of a thousand men devour, damage, desecrate you from within
and what is time when every second is measured in
bruises, thrusts, and clients? I am so sorry,
Darra,
because I thought miles could excuse me from action
Darra,
you are not a commodity
even though you are locked from within a community that puts a price
on your neck, and traded your thoughts for function
your family for foreigners,
and your lover for murderers.
Darra,
you've traced those peeling walls with hands that have lost all sense
of touch,
heart only strong enough to contain flickers of hope,
but i believe there's a heart on fire out there to ignite your soul once more,
that where walls are traced by pencil marks
the bold can be found, hiding behind graphic tee shirts and loud headphones
told that injustice will just persist, that our lives are worth more than the risk
of turning down the music to hear the orphan cry,
or the beggar sing, that our lives are worth more than the time to bring a child back to life, or to restore the right of privacy to those living on their knees.
Darra,
you are more than a statistic or a tragedy, but you breathe
you feel, your heart beats while i read,
and you have stories and dreams and a history
Darra, could I confess of your beauty that even women freed
sometimes fail to see?
That you are fearfully and wonderfully made, in an image
that make even the richest skies, deepest seas, tallest mountains pale in majesty.
You wear a crown of thorns and chains that weigh you to breaking,
but no rapist can steal away your treasure in jars of clay,
make a mark upon a slate that has been washed as white as snow,
drown out the sound of symphonies that have been sung over you
by the Ancient of Days, promises of old
Darra,
you see your worth ripped out of your soul, thrown on the ground
and trampled by the intruder's smile
but neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,
can take His love away from you.
i refuse to blame sovereignty for the crimes of humanity
cause he's given us hands and feet and a sense of justice to even question his divinity so i believe that he always has, and always is, and always will be on our side, the question is will we arise, and fight?
for once upon a day prostitutes were restored their dignity by eyes that loved enough to give beauty for ashes, life for death,
touched by hands that did not bruise a reed, if but to have a tear wiped away
once upon a day the rocks shook and the mountains split,
and the divide was bridged and
now by his wounds,
we are healed.
Darra your name in Hebrew means princess,
and though we have but scraps of armor,
the night will soon be shining,
for light seeps through even the smallest of crevices,
Darra
I stand with your story clenched in my fist and others stop to listen
Darra,
I will sit down in a few minutes and the music will be put on pause.
Darra,
we are coming for you.
3:47 am
you lay a finger on a star
and the universe spins
overdosing in glory,
that flows from the heights of heaven to the floors of the oceans
swirling and dancing and mixing and lifting
these pieces of humanity
Glory
when i swallow these divine melodies, and feel hope birth in me
see it light up the seven skies, as the earth cradles my knees
Glory
when i read your letters, and every word flutters against my soul
like something dying to get out, and my breath and tears are the soundtrack carrying me through every page
and the universe spins
overdosing in glory,
that flows from the heights of heaven to the floors of the oceans
swirling and dancing and mixing and lifting
these pieces of humanity
Glory
when i swallow these divine melodies, and feel hope birth in me
see it light up the seven skies, as the earth cradles my knees
Glory
when i read your letters, and every word flutters against my soul
like something dying to get out, and my breath and tears are the soundtrack carrying me through every page
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