i..as a child wrote too..and i hope i grew

As a class assignment when I was in the seventh grade my English teacher pulled out newspapers. She instructed us to pick a section read the articles and write a response based on the piece. I read and read and read some more. Everything seemed to be talking some war or another. And I wasn't sure which had to do with U.S., the U.N., Afghanistan, or Iraq....well you catch my drift.
The headline that stood out to me the most touched me in a place that made me want to imagine from the victims POV:

African Girls Serve As Prostitutes For U.N/U.S. Soldiers

So I wrote from the POV of one of the African girls. Of course it is totally fictional. Keep in mind this was originally written during my seventh grade year.

F R E E D O M

Freedom

Freedom

Oh the sweet sound

That word gave

Freedom from scrounging and 

Begging

Freedom from the tears

That burn in the mildewed 

state of the night

When I am alone.

Freedom from giving myself to

any bidder.

Of course, I knew it was wrong.

When I first looked upon

The cruel sun tanned faces.

Oh, I knew it was wrong but 

Don’t get confused

I knew it was wrong when I gave it to my own.

He called for me…

He continuously asked for

This young African girl

Unsure of herself, her world, her purpose in life.

He called for me,

Loudly whispering my name 

Begging for me to be near him.

In the darkness of the night 

He would touch me.

In the quiet of an abandoned building

He kissed me.

And then

When he had his share…

He sent others

Fellow camo wearing brothers

Freedom

Freedom

The sweet sound,

The bitter taste,

 The licorice dream.