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mark john junor Apr 2017
traffic in dreams
the deeper the love
the longer it will be to pay it off
deeper the diamond to carve from your heart
the darker the desire
the more cold cash
the harsher the wind in the lonely night

take sandpaper to your luxurious soul
but you keep its stain from your pretty eyes
pretty face barter for fish n chips
pretty words barter your bed and breakfast
dress it all in fashion from magazines
the strange combination of gloss and paper thin disguise
the strange combination of truth and lies

the greasy haired stranger
peers with all his might into the mirror
trying to find the man hidden within
he traffics in dreams
will sell you a plot of land
and the rainbow that comes with
ten by ten souls wide
ten by ten deep
sell em to you for a taste of the pretty
sell em to you for a touch of the tender
so rancidly reflected in his greasy smile

you thought the weight was easy to bear
thought that the lie you tell yourself suffices
but dreams are brittle thin walls you hide behind
watch the cracks spread across the pretty picture
it is painted with
watch the colors fade like sweet summer sunshine
the sweet wine turned bitter like tears
he sells you a dream that must be forever replaced
with an ever darker version
he sells you a lie that you will come to see vividly
it won't taste so sweet for so long
it will taste like dust
it will taste like loss

you seek him out once again in the dark city passage
his greasy hair fallen long ago
skin gone gray
he found the man in the mirror
he found his answer in all the chaos
tastes like dust
tastes like bitterness
seek him out to find he is gone
only a shell remains
a brittle shell

no-one gets cheap seats
without paying the price
halfmoonprxnce Mar 2017
You stripped my soul,
Ripped me from my shoes
Where I stood
in innocence.
You extracted my childlike traits,
Treated my body
As your ******* paycheck.

My whole future
Was laid out in front me.
Now you fabricated a dent in it,
One that has shattered me
Forever.
I used to smile,
Be full of life,
Slept at night,
My body never reeked the incessant scent
of the lifeless souls you sold me to.

My heart ached everyday,
I longed for home, where safety was waiting for me.
Everyday I was a raindrop,
Trying to cling onto the window of hope,
But always slipped away.

You don’t understand the pain,
You’re only in it for the hunnits
Please understand,
That my dehumanization is not worthy
For what you gain.

My body became an abstract canvas,
For your ugly pleasures.
Bruised, bloodied, beaten, and battered.
Cuts and aches line my delicate skin,
But to you all my pain is fake.

You slapped my delicate face,
every time I asked for my precious prize of my childhood,
every time clear oceans surged out of my eyes.
“Shut the hell up!” You yelled
As I let out wails of agony.
You stepped all over me
Like I was a used cigarette.
You ignored my shrieking screams,
Actually,
You loved it.

You forced me
To comply with their beastly gratifications,
Only in return for your abundant riches.
You stepped on me,
like I was a *****, grimy, muddy puddle,
over and over
Even so,
I was still considered desirable.

I am NOT your canvas.
I am NOT your paycheck.
I am NOT your plaything.
I am worthy of honor,
worthy of respectful awe and delicacy.

I did not feel the worth of a human being anymore.
I felt ill treated, broken, bent, demeaned.
You stripped my soul, and,
Deprived me of my self respect.
And I will never
Ever
Be the same.

The only thought
That seeps into my mind
At sunrise and the brink of midnight,
Is that
I
Was someone’s *****.

Listen to the pleas of
Children,
their ribbons shriveling up.
Spouses,
their vows rupturing.
Siblings,
their hearts torn apart.
Parents,
Bawling for their sanities,
Waiting to rejoice
With their miraculous bundles of joy—
This poem is one that I wrote for social consciousness. Human trafficking is an issue that destroys the lives of many and degrades human beings. This poem is from the perspective of one who has been used and trafficked, hence the term "pulverization," which means to grind up something until it turns to loose fragments-- close to nothingness.
The chatter makes me think, think
Think, think of the brink,
Of extinction,
Of my pain,
And our scars,
The world is pressing too far,
Hurting,
Discovering,
Totally uncovering,
The weaknesses of people who can't take care of themselves.
Those people who are crying out for help.
The kid hit by his momma,
The girl depressed from drama,
The kid starving in Africa,
The teen trafficked from Albania.
This world is cruel,
Totally uncool.
People think it's minuscule,
These real problems that people face,
Every god ****** ******* day.
White privilege is a real thing,
And sexism is an issue,
Homosexuality is not a miscue,
And the only person who can make change,
Is
You
©LogenMichel copyright 2016
RH 78 Sep 2015
Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Washed up.
Lifeless.
All for a new life too far to reach?

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Terrorists
Heartless.
What happened to the human rights we all preach?

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
Traffickers.
Gangs.
Displacing people no home and no speech.

Why is there a little boy lying on the beach?
A son.
No future.
We hang our heads and weep!
Broken hearted and deeply affected by pictures I saw in the news depicting the lifeless body of a little boy no older than three who was photographed washed up on the shore line of Turkey. The result of further illegal human smuggling, people trafficking promising to get families to Europe on a false promise. All too often, people are put into small boats unable to sustain the weight of all the people put upon it and not fit for purpose. This is yet another shocking event in the wake of atrocities taking place in North Africa where the displacement of millions of innocent people continues. Governments are too busy counting the pennies and quarrelling amongst themselves in addition to wasting precious time as gangs and smugglers take advantage of the situation by sending people to their death profiting from the desperation of families searching for a place to call home. When will this end? RIP to the little boy, his brother and mother who all perished.
brooke myers Jul 2015
i've been sold.
traded for.
sold again.
and traded for.
here in this
scary
dark
grey room
im tied to a musty
***** bed.
he'll come in soon.
to torture me.
take the little bit of innocence i have left.
i'll scream and cry.
then i'll go silent
listening to him twisting my insides around.
listening to my bones shatter into little fragments of grain.
trying to hear the heart beat of my broken heart.
just one beat.
thats all i need to keep me alive.
it hurts.
i thought i was in love with him.
but he just broke me.
sold me.
and used me.
thats all i'll ever be.
trash.
used.
a display that they'll break over and over again
one day..
i'll break for good.
be too shattered they wont be able to use me.
then i'll take short breaths.
whisper my goodbyes.
say ******* to all my nightmares.
i'll say good bye with a smile on my face
i wont have to live like this anymore.
im waiting for that day.
where i can rest
not having to go out on the streets
waiting for men to pick me up and torture me.
i'll be able to breathe
be free.
i'll be able to see the real me.
i'll be happy.
Myriah Mar 2015
smuggled in for a lucrative trade
beaten, bartered
broken in, until i obey
i used to be childlike
innocent and safe
now i’m someone else's treasure
a strangers pleasure
smothered in shame.
Timothy Stout Dec 2014
They still exist;
Both literally and metaphorically.
Little girls *** trafficked,
Boys slave in sweat shops,
Buissnessman works a 60 hour week.
Everyone's got their own chains.
Some we put on freely,
Some are ****** upon us,
like maturity on an orphaned child
--Some are cut into our wrists.
With every lie,
With every curse,
With every slander,
Pain built up creates inside
these fine little links;
Alone they are weak, but together
UNBREAKABLE
27 million slaves in the world
But that's just an estimate.
When we look inwards
We see so. many. more.
In the history of humanity, slavery has never been as big as it is now. Up to 27 million are inslaved today. But to help these many men, woman, and children, we must free ourselves from our masters. What is the master of your life?
Donna Bella Nov 2014
He lured me in
I fell for it
He took control
I was so young
Body count was triple my age
I felt alone every night
Every old man who touched me
Every man who took a part of me during the night sky
Every man who hurt me
Killed me each year
My mind is mentally gone
I can't think on my own
All I want is help to live again
Human trafficking
#Globalize13
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