She isn’t the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen
The dark alleys of the world made her ugly
She isn’t the kindest
The rules that kept her trapped made her hard
She isn’t the sweetest
Early foolishness turned her sour
She isn’t the purest
Her brother made her kill
She isn’t the happiest
There is no happiness in a life going nowhere but down a concrete slab that was below the grassy hills to begin with
She isn’t responsible
For anything that happened; how can she be blamed? She was a victim of circumstance; she was a victim of rape; she was a victim of gangs; she was a victim of society,
She was a girl who feared; fear kept her alive, on her streets, in her hellhole
And when that fear could no longer keep her safe…
When those who had soiled her came back for more
When her rigidity gave her parents nothing but sorrow until the left her to be stone
When her brother as found in the street with a Glasglow smile and a gutted stomach
When she was cornered with nowhere to go, and nowhere to turn to, and nowhere but that cold place she had made inside her heart
The little girl stopped fearing, and started dreaming
Outside of the streets was her haven
Beyond the Crenshaw, beyond the past, beyond the streets,
She for self-awareness; she for liberation; she ran for redemption; she ran until she found them in the one place; at a time
In the eyes a baby girl, purged from her repugnant body, yet fresh-faced as the first snow