Ramshackle diaries,
at least it gives us a way to get by
and pass the time
while we endanger ourselves by walking barefoot through a minefield.
We feed on the grass we walk on,
drink the sweat from each other’s backs,
and fuck in the dirt trails where thousands of soldiers have died to free us from the tide.
A while back they told us we weren’t good enough for these grounds,
we were told to keep our distance or first grade precautions would be taken.
They had their batons out before they even finished the exclaimer.
But time turned to dust and the bones of the fallen were left rotting in the grime,
colouring the stereotypes in their typical neon “look-at-me” shade.
There’s a faint tint of distress painted across the eyes of the survivors.
A guilt not matched by the amount of bravery put into the effort.
Careless slumber,
never knew how much we actually settled for but once it was done,
there was no going back,
and that’s when it all started.
That’s when we all started scaring kids with the bloody tales to force them to sleep,
a birth within itself.
“Calm down” they told us,
“It’s only a story.”
But they smirked as they knew it worked.
We never moved.
We never tried.
We stayed,
just like everybody else.
But today we roam the lands,
free to do exactly what we want,
when we want,
thanks to the bravery of the fighters
who lost their life that day
when the war burnt holes in a million people’s hearts,
we still found peace
in the smallest of things.
