Children Poem by Vision Ghost

I feel no cradle for the jesus that supposedly blessed me,
as Mary died in the hopelessness of faith.
An exhausted heart, tender and already so burdened,
long before the years of the adult have been sowed.

Mummy my friends are dying, they cry tears unseen,
invisible to a world too unfeeling upon my bleeding knees.
To ever stop and take the notice of the love I crave,
forever in situation of darkness and mistranslation.

Father, must I dress this way to appease the times,
in the city of mediocrity and prostitutes as my sisters.
On the silver screen there’s no imagination left,
in the flesh adorned to my eyes, as normality.

Mummy my teachers chalk is a rifle,
I must kill the enemy so my mentor told me.
I can grease my pistol but I cannot spell my name,
murder is my bible, I live in Africa.

The hospital called the police today,
they took photos of my blackened eyes.
As if I was somewhat famous but only to see,
through the bleeding they made me do,
I am nothing more than a statistic.
I live in Europe.

Unsought for by my government,
do I mean so little to you?
That our voices may annoy you,
none ever asked to be born.
I live within you; after all, you made me.

Not long after I play here on the swings,
before I am expected to bear,
my tender breasts to the world, to social society.
To be a victim of the insurgent erection,
raping me as he had no control either.
I live two doors down.

My encrusted tears asked for spare change,
for my home is the cold wet streets,
better this than the warm bloodied face of mine own.
I live nowhere, but you walked past me today.
You walked past me.

You stepped upon our tears, mistaken as the rain,
in the camouflage of the forever denied.
What is this place I be born to,
are we not children? Can we not be children again?
We are your children,
why have you done this?