

newsroom
Under the harshful sun’s glare, They wander the streets with hopeless stares. With their legs bare and cursed their spirits frail, While they tell a
I stared as they ran, laughter so wild. They moved freely, unbridled, and agile. I put in every effort to follow, but my steps betrayed
Born to serve, but never appreciated enough, That was all I knew since I could remember, All that happened in the time home was hell,
I hate lines Vertical, horizontal, diagonal. I don’t draw them, Or stare at them, Or myself. I don’t swim, I don’t chill in a beach,
It is the sound; The heavy steps echoing, The vibration; getting closer, Stealthily, slowly and heavy. My body freezes, Another trip to hell. The door
That I really did look like my mother, Should have been a compliment, One that I should have been proud of, Because to them, mother