Victimized innocents

Posting a poem on Steemit after several months. I hope you find it to be a good read. As you might have already read the title of the post, it's extremely saddening that such things are still prevalent in our society. Kids are sold by their parents for money to cartels which mutilate them to make them beg in the streets.

The following poetic letter paints the picture in words that describe the situation.

Source

The vision is blurred, I don't remember much
except their words and brutal touch
They dragged me; catching my hand
while I was crying-trying to understand
why were my parents not taking the stand?
Was I just worth a price of one grand in their hand?

After that they threw me in a van
brought me to this alien land

As a child, I had not imagined the next
No love but scars left from my waist to chest.
With daily dose of pain I learnt to digest
every worst thing life could ever manifest.

The home I had once known
had parents who had me thrown,
had brothers who left me alone
to live through these thorns that prick my bones.

Every week, they torture our physique with technique.
So we're alive but weak and we inch every step in the streets.
We beg together - spread apart in different directions,
face objections but no affections
and once we submit the collections,
we dine on left over sections
sleep with injections - wake up with infections.

Now, this is my home where I am a devil's servant.
I get bit and strangled by obnoxious evil serpents.
The street limited me until I was fourteen
then I was locked in a cage with four teens.

Since then, I cannot face my face in the glass
I hate my own reflection.
I curse myself for being born as a girl
because when I had expectations of protection,
all that my family and society served me - was rejection.

Now this is a teen's routine is quarantine
since I turned the gelatin age of fourteen.

I used to be treated like a tool
while other kids went to a school.
Now I guess they even graduated high school
while I am still the same tool.

I don't know whether anything will ever change.
The word change sounds so strange.
I'd rather be a past than a present disdain.
Everything in my life came wrapped up in pain.

To the person with this paper in his hand
for these people won't let me free.
So I am giving myself a helping hand.
I Kept failing - tried escaping this cage with persistence.
I kept wailing but no faces turned for assistance.
So, please do clean the stains and wipe off my existence
for I would not want anyone more like me at any distance!

Not for reproduction
-isteemit

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In the above poem, I tried expressing the sorrow of one such girl in my own words.

Thank you.