They cower in their homes, not safe, never safe
Terrified of the people who are supposed to help them
We worry about how we look,
If we are skinny enough
Do we know how lucky we are?
Every day
Their loved ones die
It is expected
Every day
They cower in fear
While we do drugs, cuss, and throw our lives away
Every day
Living takes everything they have
We embrace anything that could kill us
We kill ourselves
We are so lucky
Living free, living our own lives
Even as they are slaves in their own homes.
If we are so lucky, why do we not know it?
Or do we just not care?
--Marin B., 13
