At Home

i am a product of our economic whey
and i am not here of my choice

i worked 13 hours on my 13th birthday
without a song without a voice

i am a product of my willingness to learn
and i have trusted no one good

they lock the door before i lay down and i earn
the money, as i’m taught i should

it seems some intent to have a
child in this world is bent on
little more than my effort to sing

choose to make a new-born you and
do what yesterday would do
without a second thought to anything
at home

i am a product of my parents’ ignorance
a sibling to an unknown more

i’d know to read or write if given half a chance
i steal what i need–nothing more

i am a product of my culture’s history
and here i’m better to be dead

without a living parent there’s no worth to me
“it’s just a girl,” is all that’s said

if your good intent to have a
child in this world is bent on
tradition or divine anything

think before you make a you and
do not what the neighbors do
without a second thought to anything
at home

there’s no one behind the curtain
whose not in a world of hurtin’
any given day

do we look for status, blessing,
or are we just window-dressing
when we turn away

from the children desperately
in need of the love we could be
sharing with them

at home

i am a product of a god and of a war
i am a child without a home

no time for heaven on earth when settling a score
nowhere to run, nowhere to roam

there isn’t water but i find new friends each day
they disappear as easily

i lost my leg while in that field as i play
that’s just the way it is to be
at home