Our children

These are our children, we watch them endure in that way only children can.

We watch them smile and we photograph them in the slums.

They know it's hard and they know there's better, but they're resilient, in that way only children can be.

These are our children and we watch them embrace death and bury parents.

We watch children raise other children without complaint.

They too see things and are forced to feel things beyond their years.

They never speak of the abuse, they don't even understand it to be abuse. There are only children, our children.

We watch them rise from the dirt and grow into hollow and unfurnished human beings; they smile less these days.

And understand more these days.

Their capacity isn't what it used to be and they tolerate less these days.

These are our children and we've allowed them to grow into broken adults.

We watch them in dens, trying to numb the pain.

Physically unable and emotionally incapable of raising children, they abandon them.

Instinct propelled them forward, only for memories to pull them back.

We have less sympathy for them these days.

We walk past them in the cold without a thought for them these days.