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