I am only sixteen.
These thoughts that run through my head are reminiscent of
an old mind,
one that has seen hatred, cruelty,
I have turned a blind eye to those I so desire to forget,
I spew forth wisecracks and talk-backs,
trying to keep my laughtracks
that I call friends and teachers.
They laugh, they encourage me, and all the while,
I am alone
in my mind
with those I so desire to forget.
The children across the world that I couldn't feed,
the man whose daughter I couldn't save from being raped,
transformed from a sweet little girl
into a young woman hardened in the fashion that many have been.
I laugh, I jest, I love, I smile and wave and grin and giggle and forget so desperately that
people are born into this world.
We speak often of wars, atrocities, terrible and unforgivable pasts.
When class lets out, some kids make a joke about the Apartheid,
about the Holocaust,
about the Tutsis and Hutus,
about the Armenians,
about slavery and torture and killings and things that our ancestors have done.
And it pains me to say that I have become one of those kids.
The hot blood spilled upon the ground on which I tread means little to my caustic tongue.
We are numb, unable to grasp the utter rage that boils within us,
instead suppressing it with roundabout news reports,
and untrustworthy word of mouth.
But no teacher stops us.
No adult says it's wrong.
They just shake their heads,
forgetting that we are human, and should act as such.
But forget all that.
Wanna hear a joke about Anne Frank?