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Child SolidersI watchBecause everyone else doesI listenBecause to talk would be rudeI comprehendThough I wish I hadntI understandThough I pray for ignoranceI rememberAs I try to forgetI cringeAs emotion consumes meI cryWhile their lives are destroyedI breatheWhile their chests remain stillI stopWhen they fill the screenI stareWhen they hold the gunsI believeIn things bigger than myselfI wishThat I could make a differenceI wonderWhy they fightI askWhat made them that way?I hopeThat tomorrow is brighterI prayFor their safety and healthI knowThat their future is deathI feel
There are no words for this.
Dammsel in DistressI remember all those stories as a little girl about the prince saving the damsel in distress, and how they always ended with a happily ever after. For years I sat beside the window and wondered when my hero would come and steal me away from everyone that hurt me. I would sit there in the dark and think about what he would look like. He would be handsome, of course, and intelligent. He would have the manners of a gentleman and the regency of a prince. My hero would be strong and courageous, and more than anything he would be there when I needed him.So I waited
And I waited, and I kept waiting for him to show up. I got older, and things remained the same, yet he never came. I sat there, and I prayed just like all of the pastors say to. I swore Id never sin, and I promised Id be true. More than anything I needed my hero, though, and he was no where to be found.I know now that there are no such things as heroes. Theyre a lie fabricated by people like m