Each tear felt like a
memory gliding down my face, free falling from my chin, tapping the
pavement. My heart beat sped up to match the rate at which i pleaded on
her behalf, begging God to show his loving kindness, his mercy.
Her name was Sandra. She loved me as much as the last crystal piece of her heart could; it may have been jagged and broken, but it was enough to make me feel special. She would light up and blow smoke near me when we spoke of life's railroad tracks and dead ends. There was a hint of roughness to her tone yet i always felt soothed by her motherly character.
Maybe, when she lay awake that midnight after being stripped of hope, she counted me as the 8th blessing in her life. Maybe, a slight smile broke when she remembered how she nurtured me like her own daughter.
I can picture her praying that every word she whispered would float in the air and find its way to my ear, "Don't worry Julie...", like she'd always say.
I felt the sky weigh on my shoulders. For a minute i doubted every belief i held. There was beauty in her heart. Why is it the world had to sabotage such a heavenly trait? She had power to arise from the pit of prostitution, from a motel room overflowing with violence, and strength in her legs to run from a pimp destitute of compassion.
"Jesus", I cried.
There's so much that lies behind closed doors. Brokenness lies in my backyard.
Did she know the end was coming? Did she feel the pain of the last blow? Or did she cling to the wall and watch the blood flow?
Abuse is like a stamp, applied to a silent woman.
One more statistic to the world, another victim.
One less child of God alive and breathing.
One less friend to a lonely girl afraid to keep moving.
She believed in my dreams even when her life seemed bleak.
She invited me to be me.
How could a woman so addicted to pain violently heal my heart torn at the seams?
I found myself after a while of feeling lost; I was awake, I was not dreaming.
This was My Reality.
I began to stand although i was weak. My eyes searched the ground for hope. Yet all i could find were more stories of tragedy that occurred upon this ground.
It's time for light to invade the darkness of 9th street.
Now I'm committed to remember a woman forgotten.
May she find peace in Heaven. Since she only knew pieces of hell.
I love you Sandra. I think about you every day.
I'll tell your story to every generation
You were a voice that calmed seas
But never had the chance to speak
Her name was Sandra. She loved me as much as the last crystal piece of her heart could; it may have been jagged and broken, but it was enough to make me feel special. She would light up and blow smoke near me when we spoke of life's railroad tracks and dead ends. There was a hint of roughness to her tone yet i always felt soothed by her motherly character.
Maybe, when she lay awake that midnight after being stripped of hope, she counted me as the 8th blessing in her life. Maybe, a slight smile broke when she remembered how she nurtured me like her own daughter.
I can picture her praying that every word she whispered would float in the air and find its way to my ear, "Don't worry Julie...", like she'd always say.
I felt the sky weigh on my shoulders. For a minute i doubted every belief i held. There was beauty in her heart. Why is it the world had to sabotage such a heavenly trait? She had power to arise from the pit of prostitution, from a motel room overflowing with violence, and strength in her legs to run from a pimp destitute of compassion.
"Jesus", I cried.
There's so much that lies behind closed doors. Brokenness lies in my backyard.
Did she know the end was coming? Did she feel the pain of the last blow? Or did she cling to the wall and watch the blood flow?
Abuse is like a stamp, applied to a silent woman.
One more statistic to the world, another victim.
One less child of God alive and breathing.
One less friend to a lonely girl afraid to keep moving.
She believed in my dreams even when her life seemed bleak.
She invited me to be me.
How could a woman so addicted to pain violently heal my heart torn at the seams?
I found myself after a while of feeling lost; I was awake, I was not dreaming.
This was My Reality.
I began to stand although i was weak. My eyes searched the ground for hope. Yet all i could find were more stories of tragedy that occurred upon this ground.
It's time for light to invade the darkness of 9th street.
Now I'm committed to remember a woman forgotten.
May she find peace in Heaven. Since she only knew pieces of hell.
I love you Sandra. I think about you every day.
I'll tell your story to every generation
You were a voice that calmed seas
But never had the chance to speak
