I AM
 

I am who I am.
Because I am unique.
Don’t categorize me,
Because of my race.
Don’t judge me cause of my gender.
.
I may not have fought in battles,
But I’m not a quitter.

I may not have,
Trophies hanging on my wall,
But the things I went through,
Only one can imagine.

Who I was then,
And who I am now,
Is no different.
I’ve only shifted the gears,
In how I chose to survive.

I love to cry,
I love to laugh.
I love to speak,
If you’d only let me.

Don’t judge me,
From where I’ve been.
Embrace me,
With the triumphs I’ve succeeded

I love to sing,
I love to dance,
I love to read,
And relax on the grass.

My eyes they tell a story,
My tears will explain the pain.
All I ask is for you to listen,
And I will tell you my name.

I have friends,
I have inspires
I don’t have foes,
Just the challengers.

My parents,
I’ve learned.
There’s no perfection.

My siblings,
They’ve taught me,
About Hope.

My children,
Will know who I am.

I’m not looking for fame
To buy my way through happiness,
Cause riches,
Only took me so far.

I’m looking for my best friend,
Someone who won’t judge me,
For the person I was,
And will love the person I became.

I can teach you things,
I’ve learned,
You can show me things,
I’ve only dreamed about.

Who am I?
You ask?

Just take a look
Into my eyes,

For I am a . . .
Survivor.

July 8, 2001
 
 

SILENT CRIES

Tongues are silent,
but the tears remain.
Ignorance lingers
in people's hearts.
Children are crying out,
Why can't we hear them?
Is there. . .
an invisible wall in front of us,
or are we denying
the pain?
One by one,
they disappear,
to a world
full of hatred and rage,
how can we stop it,
you ask?
Open your doors,
and you'll find the answers
in front of you,
Shut them,
you all hear is
Silent cries . . .

7-12-01
 
 

A PROSTITUTE

A young girl's body,
found in the alley.
Paramedics’ rushes time
to save a life
A life they didn't know existed.
"16 years old" one shouts out.
The other nods his head
in disbelief.
Holding her hand in his,
Questions run through his mind wondering.
"Why so young"
"Why did it happen to her?"
Searching through her purse
for identification.
Following items were found.
Lipstick, for her hidden beauty.
A crack pipe, to medicate her pain.
And condoms for protection.
But from what?
From whom?
And did it protect her last breath of life?
How long was it before,
her voice could be heard?
Did anyone even care?
To everyone else,
she was just a prostitute
Not a child.
copy right
1-14-00