Young Girl

Through the eyes of a stolen prison,
In a word of submission or beatings,
At a time of desperation,
A single child can’t seem to describe her desperation.
She wears a single thread cloth refurbished from the dirtied tin outside an apartment she had earlier been dragged to by unidentified tall men,
She walks on the rough dirt path surrounded by darkness and strange smells,
Shouting can be heard in the distance, echoing from ally ways giving the sense that she was not yet safe on her lone walk back to her hidden treasure.
Under her coat made of a single thread cloth she wore a white polo shirt, well it use to be white when her second mother had purchased it for her but now it was full of brown spots as if it had been washed in coffee and dried on the roof of a metal shed,
And on one foot she had placed a single sock in attempt to protect her from the near winter that sticked danger every time it drew near,
It was going to be a long journey home from her chamber of lost hope, but the young girl was determined to reach it before the sun woke the strange men from their slumber full of volcanic eruption that produced from their chests,
This young girl hadn’t given up yet,
She thought how she missed her old rotten bear that her father once brought her new, at a time when her first mother fell sick and died of the flu, she would hug him tight at night and blow her noes in his sleeves, this bear brought her comfort in all times of need,
She wondered what her father would do if he could see her now, would he weep with her and council her in town, would he buy her more coats and stich all her wounds, would he help with her baby the strange men caused her to coupe.
Unfortunately her father was gone, poisoned by his wife, she wanted all his fortune and cursed his daughters life, if I didn’t live in Israel would my life be any different, would my father be avenged and ‘I’ have a support system, would I live in a house instead of a box in the street, would I be brought a coat instead of finding one from rubbish in the street, would I be hugged more and thought to be beautiful instead of thought as a thief because I’m quite so dirt ridden,
I don’t want your help or your empathy, all I want is for you to respect what you don’t see on your streets, for my home could be prevented and family I could have had, if my country never gave up on all the land we currently stand.