I knew when they said that they’d look into it something was wrong.
There was something I saw in their eyes.
A hardened sadness.
I didn’t get it then, but I get it now.
“We’ll look into it,” meant they already knew the answer and they didn’t want to tell me.
The sadness stemmed from the discomfort in knowing their inaction played a central role in denying my human rights;
the hardness from knowing they were not going to change their decision.
At 15 I didn’t have a clue, but I knew something was not right.
I used to place my hand over my heart every morning in school to pledge allegiance...
I felt tingles in my skin and pride in my country every time I heard our national anthem.
I knew I was lucky because I was free.
I knew this meant I had the freedom of speech and the right not to be censored.
I knew I had the right to an attorney or at the very least would not be denied legal advice.
And I knew it all with the zealous passion that could only belong to a child.
I learned that none of those freedoms applied to me.
Not because of my
citizenship, or my
color, or my
I was under 18.
I can not speak to what you’ve been through or relate to what you’re going through.
But I can hear your pain;
and I can match your pitch.
So I will sit right here
and ache with you awhile.
This was a series of thoughts scribbled in notebooks that I thought made some sort of sense as to why I am so drawn to try and help give voice to those that are unable to speak for themselves. Specifically in our country; the land of the free. So this letter is to them. There are people fighting for you.
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Brigid’s House Of Hope is a safe house for victims of human trafficking
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