Sarah, I'm sorry.
I'm sorry, I can't find the lever behind that vacant look,
the one that I can flip to make you feel safe.
To be honest, I don't think that safe is a feeling you've ever known.
Kidnapped and violated, belittled and confined,
Forced under a heavy thumb to sit at your desk,
to swallow and endure the abuse,
while strangers chipped away at your humanity,
attacking your culture like a virus would do.
Sarah, I'm sorry.
I can't imagine your relief, when you were finally released,
only to return home, to find the fire in your families' eyes,
perverted to scortched earth.
The final act of a cruel, cruel war,
waged against your beautiful spirit,
when you were forced to hang your head,
when they robbed you of the strength,
you needed to hold it up high.
Sarah, I'm sorry.
I don't know when you left that place,
I just know that you ended up here,
To lose yourself in the alleys,
To lose yourself in the bottles,
To lose your heavy conscience,
If only to glimpse a break in the rain.
Sarah, I'm sorry.
This war is never over,
That brown envelope found you here,
Those slippery fucking numbers,
That your attackers call an apology,
But thier money is another weapon,
And its keeping you sick.
Sarah, I'm so very sorry.
There are crack heads in your room,
And they are hungry parasites,
they are calling you mother,
and they are lying,
but you need a community,
and you're too drunk to know it.
Sarah, I'm not apologizing,
for your tough life,
for this conquerer come bigot fear laden society,
for the hole in your heart,
Sarah, I'm sorry,
Because I want to cry with you,
Because I want to tell you my stories,
the ones that remind me of love,
and I want to do it forever,
but I won't.
Because even though I'm holding your hand right now,
and your looking at me through tears,
I belong to the meek,
all of them,
and for that reason,
I can't take off these black latex gloves.