At fourteen: just fourteen.
Felicia serves much more: oh much more.
She is a mother: rising earlier than others,
even mothers: to serve a large household.
For the remnants she feeds on, she pays
back: much more with toil and sweat.
To sleep on a mat in the corridor is a favor
given: an act of benevolence from master.
Sleep is a luxury, who can find!
Pause her to ask: “how do you fare this day?”
She answers: “like every other.”
Death is not a choice.
I have come to give life…
A life of abundance to all who believe.
I have died, to set the captives free.
Deep in a prison,
Walls built solidly,
Dreams of release, Heaven
Chains held in place, sweat and blood
she asks: “how do i become free.”
What life have I chosen,
prevalent with beatings, curses and a floor to keep.
A life of privilege none promised,
No space of mine not demanded,
No tear freely given,
Alas! my days sorely driven.
were there dreams and hopes
pregnant for my birth.
can you face what i live daily…
who is to shield me from such abuse;
of soul, flesh and purpose.
why am i deprived of ignorance my age-mates enjoy…
Oh! Falila is at it again.
When will my release come?