Nobody’s Chidren

Tilted smiles on dirty faces
Hoods and sweaters with holes
Absent fathers, abusive mothers
and invisible little souls.
Messy hair and sullen frowns
for every slap or blow
And a hardness in once twinkling eyes
that never ceases to grow.
Empty bottles serve as toys
and water must often be food
And in the sunlight their hair lightens
while in darkness, they quietly brood.
Justice isn’t even a word for them
Let alone a concept of human pride
Fragmented, before they could grow
They’re as whole as you & me, inside.
And, they rub their grimy little faces
after they’ve shaken hands with sin
With empty pockets, and small dreams
that die before they can begin.

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