Crying with all her might hoping someone would hear her cry

Crawling out of her sheets the nightmares would make her cry

She was strong and weak but she was showing us just one part

Life twinkling just like a glimpse that refuse to show once path

Her abuser on the corner lurking around like their is a prey in his path

Both eyes collide and that moment she realise the circle will repeat itself

Mouth closed and the mind turn but the eyes refuse to hold the pain

Tear drop shows the vulnerable loud silence which shows her pain

She has to channel her stronger side and speak to the world about her pain

I am British,
But I don’t feel English.
I’ve lived in France for manny years,
But I don’t feel French.
I have traveled to different places,
I can’t seem to find my home.
The truth is,
I do know where it is.
It’s all around me,
Everywhere I go.
The world is my house.
We are all from the same place,
We are all worth the same.
Why does my nationality confines me?
Why does it define me?

To explore the rooms in my house,
I have to ask for permission to enter.
I can’t stay in my kitchen,
As I have be cooking for to long.
I can’t return to my garden,
As I have already been there twice.
I am waiting to see my living room,
But I am still being refused.
I am stuck in my bedroom,
But I want to change rooms.

Stop telling me to go back home.
This is my country,
This is your country,
This is our country.
We should all have the right,
Equally to explore our house,
Without being refused.

By
Coco 07