We are the stars that you ignore in search for brighter lights to guide you home Safe and warm and ignorant you stay We were the children born from orchids, into a meadow and our lives have dried up, weeds thriving on our desperate longing for home The only music we hear are the sounds of death: gunshots and screams the genre that only people who have a warm smile to come home to can listen to at a music store We are the people of Palestine, Syria, Egypt, Libya, The Congo, Haiti, India, Bangladesh, North Korea The diaspora who no longer have roots anywhere on earth we have been dug up and shat out by the soil that we sprung from Our kin have scratched blood from our skin We are the forgotten, the avoidees, the people who make you uncomfortable who force you to leave your little world so painstakingly built for you to live in and die as a result of Go, live the lives you were destined for while we dream of them Go, have the freedom you think you have and we think we will get We are goldfish in a bowl that has never been cleaned We will never escape