In hiding, there is no life
"no one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark" - Warsan Shire
Hidden Voices is my love letter to the best of us—the children. It is born from the grief and frustration, as we witness the voices of children & women silenced and their lives threatened daily. This is for them — a place to hear their voices and tell their stories. Thank you for reading and honoring the lives of children as you do so.
Please feel free to become a paying subscriber. A portion of the proceeds will go towards a nonprofit I am building to help children use writing and art as a personal outlet and a tool for activism on child justice issues.
A deep breath
inhale
exhale,
one hand on a doorknob and
the other clutching a tiny wrist,
setting off on a journey
filled with so much terror
that emerges from
cruelty so heartless
hatred so loud
rage so violent
towards
those who now must spend their lives running
who thought they could
finally breathe
and live
and love
and grow
and rest
and stay
only to realize
that those who steal land
will never allow it
to be made into a home
they who never
touched, tilled, toiled,
moved and mulled
believe the myth
that unmatched brutality
oppressing and killing
are reasonable methods
to own a land
a people
their future
Mother and daughter
embark on their daily trip
now seems longer than ever
Each step intentional,
Wary of prolonged stares
Gait unsteady
but in complete unison
Eyes trained to never
make contact
with one another
touch is much more sacred these days
Finally reaching the lobby,
the woman pushes the door open,
sunlight blinding both
taking in the gift of oxygen
from towering trees
as if a luxury
It should be free,
but feels like bait,
a trap to lull them outside
with nowhere to hide.
They move quickly
daughter's eyes facing the ground
Mother's eyes forward
darting left then right
scanning
for signs of officers
who have no mercy
for humans with
skin like theirs
stories like theirs
struggles like theirs
Each sidewalk corner brings panic
What lies in the unknown curve
Her breathing staggers then stops
for a few seconds
until she can take in the next path
Their hands tremble together
Everything looks clear
so keep moving.
Too clear.
Too vapid.
Streets that were full of life,
and vendors,
and food
and music
and shouts
now a barren ghost town,
consequences of a war on humanity
but just for a second
she steals a glance at the trees
It’s a risk to take in nature
and absorb its beauty
to remind oneself of simple joys again,
to momentarily drown out the memories
of wails of friends taken
sobs of children left behind
sounds that will never be erased
minds rendered helpless,
unsure of how to move on.
Almost at the destination,
the little girl finally looks up
first to her mother,
then to a blue firmament
painted on a orange yellow herizon
to greet the heavens
and silently beg that
these final steps to the doorway
will not unleash the peril
that is now permanently etched
into the blank stares
of her friends
whose lives changed forever
on similar street corners
She sees the familiar face of
the guard at the entrance
standing as their defense
working in defiance
to a world
that has no mercy
for the families who
linger in front of her
unwilling to separate
never completely certain if
the day will return them
as whole beings
within families who continue to give
everything to a country
who cannot stop taking
children rush
into this building
shifting between
relief
and a keen awareness that
nowhere is safe,
that children born in a land
that persecutes
everything they are
everyone they love
are never truly free.
I love you, she says
the mother replies
with a squeeze of
her daughter's grip
then a release
understanding that
delay can be dangerous
the little one grabs her mother’s legs
remembering what’s at stake
attempting to sear into her psyche
this body
trying to transform
a hug that lasts for seconds
into a remembrance for eternity
she lets go
but marches backwards
keeping her eye
on the figure of
her most prized possession
who gets smaller
in the distance
reluctantly asking a God,
she can’t forgive
to remember this woman
is her mommy
hoping it’s enough to garner protection
only now
she turns around
walking deeper into the corridor
still wondering what she can learn
in these four walls
that life has not already taught her
in her nine years on this Earth
She feels her daughter’s stare on her back
gathering all of her strength
to not run back
but walk steadily out of her sight
and to her workplace
a space transformed
into a cage that she may never escape
She is one of the many
trying to remember to breathe
knowing her movement
is the ultimate act of freedom
in a time of erasure
by force
An act that continues to repeat itself
where those who nurtured this land
and taught and welcomed
were then ravaged and killed
where those who were kidnapped
confined against their will
and beaten into submission
their blood runs through the soil of this land
This familiar drumbeat echoes loud
targeting those
who balanced their grief with
courage
as they left
their land
their families
their lives
in exchange for
a safe home
She continues walking
as a full person
unwilling to be made into tropes
unwilling to hide in the face of threats
unending in her hope
to return to life
as it was
where
finding a place to exist
where one can belong
is never wrong
Her arrival is a victory
yet there will be no celebration
even as the two
become one again
and return
to the four walls
they can no longer call home
but just another space
to hide
and wait
and hope
and laugh
and cry
together
until
If you enjoyed this post, please click on the heart at the bottom or the top of this email. It helps others discover Black Girl Healing. If you really liked this piece, consider restacking it or sharing it with a friend.
If you loved this piece, buy me a matcha tea latte to show your love- it is my guilty pleasure that keeps me going!
I always want to give special thanks to those of you who have chosen to become paid subscribers. Your continuous support is never taken for granted and is helping me on my journey to becoming a full-time writer. Please know I am extremely humbled and honored by your precious gift.
If anything in the piece resonated with you, please let me know in the comments. I would love to hear your feedback. It helps inspire my future writing. I can’t wait to hear from you!
😭