Children of God

Calluses hold his hands from working out in the field

Earning a few dollars a day

He comes home to his always cheerful and welcoming wife

To his laughing children playing barefoot on the street

He prays and as he prays

Their world is guaranteed such a small place

A family who counts pennies to buy milk

Smiles when the ice cream truck passes by

Mouths water while watching the sugar cone

Melt away their childhood desires

Fumbling, he wipes his dark working hands

On his raggedy shirt, reaches into his pocket

And gives each child half of an old piece of gum

Just so he doesnt go to sleep feeling so guilty

Wash wash until her hands start to bleed

Everything is poor, she says,

But at least we keep our dignity

And everything is kept honest and sparkling clean

At least to the naked eye

Or until someone breaks down and cries

And so its our story,

Mom bathes us in her love

Dad lifts us up in his tired arms

Tickling and giggling we are satisfied

In our passed down sneakers and bruised knees

We climb trees and walk a mile to the beach

Roll up old socks into a ball

And kick it into a soccer match

Innocence is our means in a place where guns are merciless

Death is more likely than ever falling in love

Hunger more likely than education

And drugs arent a choice, its a way

Its an inert definition

We are the children of the slums

Living in the city of God, they say,

But to us, God is a constant vacation

We are the nightmare hidden in worthless wonder

Ready to be initiated into the devils service

And ripped of our distant dreams of becoming like you

Yes, you, sitting on your leather couch playing your video games

Playing little league in the summer

Taking swimming lessons at the YMCA

Do you hear me crying?

Do you know I exist?

Within the cobweb streets of my hills,

In the dirt of my soil

Under suspecting eyes of many foreigners and strangers

I challenge the strength of my tiny soul

As its erected with every mouthful of food I get denied

My rage boils as I learn from every drug dealer

What its like to be like you, wearing your Prada

I never imagined you complaining

About eating your macaroni and cheese

Or having to do your homework

Or having to keep your room clean

Ignorance ingrained in the suffering youll never know

At least we have our dignity, holy trinity

We appreciate the few times a cracked smile materializes

Knowing we have each other in our sad unfortunate reality

And in our inadvertently hollow existence

While our God is still in Tahiti

Each day is considered a blessing

Each blessing is considered a chance

And each chance is another seed planted inside

Our little black box of hopes