Featured Voices
Written Submissions
A collection of original writing from our community — poems, stories, and reflections shared through WRITE4CHANGEUG.
I was born the day i died
by Anonymous
I was born the day I died. I was born the day fissures formed on the hardened skin of my land Leaving wounds gushing with molten, baked, roasted, smoked and charred mud I was born the day the world went silent. Silent, quiet yet loud. A silence i describe as loud because of its novel permeation of the eardrums. I did not cry, aware yet unaware my birth was now the least of events significant. I was born with the oud of blood permeating the air Though, the permeation I smelt was neither mine nor my mothers I was born of foreign bodies, personal to mine in their species. I was born dead and Born in sorrow. Yet, ironically, a salve for Sorrow - relief. To cut a long story short, Mama, I think. I think, I was born the day i died.
I Come From
by Anonymous
I come from brown mud huts indented with thousands of busy ants. I come from dugout tarmac roads, filled with murky brown water. I come from buildings tattooed with words of misplaced hope, and shops dripping with unstuck bricks. I come from bony corpses that line the streets begging, I come from tap water running contaminated with bark-brown tears. I come from floods gripping every car, light, and even child in their way. I come from a place painted in red paint on the TVs of those who empathize from afar. But more importantly, I come from a place of hidden beauty. I come from a house infested with mossy land and buds of flowers that glisten like ripe grapes. I come from star-studded skies that sit unbothered by violent billboards. I come from a sun that points its torch at all who walk beneath it. A sun that baths my people with its might and reminds us of all we have endured. I come from a place that's still figuring itself out, when not drenched in a flag of red, white, and blue. I come from a lake, named after the queen who once controlled us. And from roads named after our forgotten oppressors. But when I remember the 3 facts above, I remind myself that, I come from clouds so voluptuous, they look like they might drip the sweet juices of un-milked cows. Though, Ultimately and insurmountably, I come from a place. Where I am seen and appreciated. Not for my skin, intelligence, or possessions. But because I am simply me.
Refuge is man-made
by Anonymous
When I think of refuge I think of ants. Thousands And thousands of them. A hill slowly forming. Refuge is a plague A bacteria. But one that keeps those possessed with greed Alive. It is a virus Buried within every war-craving soul. It is the words or anger, Thrown at someone with darker skin. It is the way people laugh When you pronounce a word wrong. Refuge is not natural. Refuge is man-made. Made by evil men who enjoy the suffering of others. Who only want; yet another Property on their board of Monopoly. Refuge is a truth A truth that No matter how smart Or kind Or funny you are. Somebody out there simply, does Not care.