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  • Danica Morris

Esperanza

It was worse before it got better, but the light we once found comfort in

never felt so far away.

Crooks in carriages with loaded caskets strapped on their hips

nicked the freedom of midnight strolls

along moonlit stones away from kindred spirits.

Striking fists thrashed oak stained doors

as families were forced apart— little girls turning into wound wrappers

and little boys into front-line soldiers.

Sounds of cries clouded the waters

with eyelids so heavy they acted as doors to escape the reality

that had become.

Where were the vengeful knights we looked

up to in fairytales? The princesses our fathers promised us

would grow into queens one day?

They were dreams in distances,

but we needed to wake up.

Faceless apparitions stood us in line

s as we marched following the backs’ of heads with fear seizing our ability to run and

hide.

Trash cans full of anger that turned the night crimson illuminated a war that was brewing on the tip of tolerance as the gifts of firecrackers impaled flesh,

carnage ringing throughout an empty aura.

Our world had been stolen,


Until there was nothing left.

Begging for mercy, begging for a God who wouldn’t show Himself.

Begging for a chance to cross the road and save the souls who needed it the most.

We were entering a world where the boogeymen weren’t under our beds;

they were on our doorstep.

Bedtime narratives we laughed off

as foolish spooks were now our nightmare as we lived through daylight dusks.

We were never meant to be heroes.

We had to become the monsters

lurking in the shadows to take back a world that was rightfully ours.

For the voices that were buried amongst the rubble,

our elders whose bones were fragile from the days of hard work ensuring the lives of the sure

future generations would be lived with grand.

There would be no knights in armor, no princesses with virgin white dresses,

or supermen who came and saved the day.

Blood would be on our hands.

Some of us wouldn’t make it out,

leaving us to depend on the rain

to scour our sins.

This was our battle.

It was worse before it got better,

but we still never lost hope.



Published August 25, 2022

By [Danica Morris]

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