my heart breaks for all those robbed of their childhoods. again and again.
robbed by those who murder them in cold blood
robbed by states that use their murder to inflict violence on others
robbed by being turned into numbers.
robbed by those who deem their lives less valuable than others.
robbed by those shocked at the anguish over their loss. “do they love their children as much as we do?”
robbed by the expectation that a long history of violence has made their families immune to grief.
robbed by the desire to consume and reuse the grief caused by their murder
robbed by being placed on display
robbed by the hypocritical outpouring of grief by those whose hands are stained with their blood.
robbed by our forgetfulness. for we are quick to forget