the world will find you

His hair is washed in
river water, and sweat.
He wears a cross around his neck,
he carries no weapons.
His muscles are defined by
hard work, and hunger.
His wife is dead, because she
was caught. He could die
any day, his children
slaughtered, the girls
raped. He works on the land,
scraping what he can
to survive. Nobody comes.
Nobody helps the village.
There are no vaccines, 
no hospitals. There are soldiers.
The government does not
want his people, need
them. They are willing
to kill them, for their belief.
They have no names,
they have no rights.
The soldiers take what they
want, or like. Money, 
property. Women.
Every day could be his last,
every hour could be the one
before the soldiers come again,
asking for lives.

She has skin that makes them
think of adventure, excitement.
Her lips are wide, her teeth white.
Her name was taken from her,
by the men who promised
a new life, a better life. Roxanne,
Carrie, Sally. It changes by day,
by man. She wanted to kill herself,
to break the tiny windows and
tear open every vein, every
possible carrier of blood 
that she could find under her skin.
The men came, with a needle.
It took her away, made her numb.
She had to stay, she needed
that needle. She hated herself
for it, but she couldn't leave.
She didn't fight, forgot herself.
Her mother, so proud and strong,
would have wept. Once bright,
healthy, she is now a skelton.
The men still come, still lay on her
and in her, sweating and panting.
She has a scar on her face,
she made it with her nails,
before the needle. She hurt the men,
by lowering her price.
She wishes she was dead,
but maybe she already is.

Your hair is cut and dyed
to fit the styles you see on the TV
and the computer you own.
If you put your hand in your pocket,
your jeans made by someone else,
cleaned and new, what would you find?
There would be money,
a phone, maybe make-up.
You worry about if the parents who
provide for you, keep you safe,
if they really love you.
If they understand you. You're
trying to rebel against 
nothing. Not povertry,
not famine, or suffering. You want
the right, the basic human
right, to wear earrings to school.
You are educated,
you can read and write and count.
Your worries are about friends,
and boyfriends. In another world,
you would be married. In another world,
your feet would be bent beneath you,
and you would be a possession.
In another world, you would
walk the streets, selling whatever
you have. Selling all you have.
Every.
Last.
Inch.
Of skin and innocence and hope.
You have never worked, or fought.
You sit at home, eating warm food,
drinking clean water, safe.
Yet you think you are suffering?