Stench of the garbage,
It was born into,
Is enough to suffocate it.
The body is rotten,
To the core of its existence,
But the pretense exists
For the fear of being found out
Is too strong to shed the shell off.
The shame of the street,
That stinks of unprotected gutters,
naked, malnourished, and fearless children playing with nothing but pebbles,
The anxiety of being singled out,
And above all,
The horror of denying
What was expressed as its impression
Of defiance and rebellion,
What was mistook as its pride
In blood and belonging,
All is a burden for it to breathe…
It bleeds… It still bleeds…
It is not a human anymore
But cannot let the shame fall off its shoulders.