the price

the price we sold ourselves for

was never the nine pieces of tarnished silver in the kitchen drawer

four knives, two forks and three spoons…

it wasn't the pair of used sneakers two sizes too big for our feet

or two pairs of cast-off jeans

and three worn-out t-shirts that we wore all week

clean or not, ‘cause maybe they didn’t get washed

but they were all we had to wear in January…

or the greasy popcorn we ate for a week

‘cause there was nothing else in the place…

it wasn’t the broken bone

that never healed right

‘cause she couldn’t be bothered

to take us back to the doctor…

or the looks from our teachers and our classmates

that said they could see our darkness

and it made them nervous …

it wasn’t the hand that never touched our hair

or the eyes that looked right through us

like we were never even there

or the words of pride that our ears never heard...

or the touch we craved like addicts…

it wasn’t the anger that filled our bellies

or the guilt we felt for always wanting more...

or all the things we did

to buy oblivion instead…

it wasn’t the time we spent on our knees begging

or the years spent quiet, timid and small

trying to kill our own strength...

locking our anger

fear, rage, pain and need

inside our bellies...

keeping our heart encased in ice

‘til it turned stone cold and hollow 

unshed tears freezing and falling

building a glacier against hope...

hoping it would die silently

so not to make anyone uneasy…

it was never the choices that we made

to deliver our power into the hands of the careless…

the price we sold ourselves for

was the belief that we could never be

good enough to deserve better…