Third-world Heroes

We, right here, in
the furthest east,
the dumps of planet earth,

we're barefoot ten-year-olds,
running to tap on the car windows
stopping along the street and beg
for a few cents, before the traffic
light turns green again.

We're silenced women.

Our childhoods were tattered by
horror stories of why we should
always cover our bodies, of how our
self-worth resides between
our thighs. Our rapist is free,
and our story is lost.

We're families living in
one-bedroom apartments.

Families who forgot what milk
tastes like, what meat tastes like,
what warmth tastes like.

Families who split one loaf of
bread at dinner, and sleep
thankful. Families who
appreciate the roof above
their heads, even if it leaks
on rainy days.

Yet at times, some of us
shout a loud no to all of this.

Some of us,
refuse to beg,
refuse to be silenced,
refuse to settle for less than
what a human being deserves.

Refuse to break,
refuse to go with the flow.

Some of us get to wear
a graduation gown.
Some of us get to love
every inch
of their body, to protect it
against judgmental,
hateful eyes.
Some of us get to learn
that one's self-worth
exists within the heart.

Some of us
fight and win,
struggle and grow,
endeavor to swim above
the surface,
then lend a hand
to those still drowning

at the bottom.