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I am the innocent. I am born into a place that immediately claims
ownership of me. It sees my helplessness and meets my physical
needs, but in return, it holds over me the requirement of unconditional surrenderůof
my mind, my heart, my dreams, my dignity, my rights, my life.
Ultimately, I am an object to be traded, a will to be broken, a mind and heart to be
ignored, a property to be owned. I am the innocent.
If there be a god, filled with goodness and worthy of worship, certainly he would not
stand in the shadows as my body breaks under the feet of those who claim him. Certainly,
he would hear my criesůand lift my weary armsůand rush me off to safety in his embrace.
But there is no safety. Only silence. And the bright light I so desperately wish to
shine upon the world will never be more than an emberůsuffocating from the lack of air
to breatheůsurrendering to darknessů forgotten. If you would only look, you would see me.
You would abandon your hate, your small-minded, petty traditions and the edicts of obsolete
men, and you would see me. You would protect and celebrate my life as you do your own,
and you would see me. I am the moment which defines you. The child
that continues you. The tragedy that condemns you.
I am the innocent. And my life belongs to me.