Some Days are Hard

Some days are hard. Some days I need to scream. I want to show people how bad the world really can be, to make them recognise how blessed they really are.

We fuss over the cost of birthday parties, whine at our partners for small, insignificant things. We hove, stress if a shirt is wrinkled or if a bed was made.

When there are kids who go hungry, who are living in squalor, who are abused, tortured and unloved.

There are children who despite all attempts by family to intervene, after reports have been made who are returned to homes where they are not safe.

Kids who lie on filthy floors, go hungry for days and where parents sleep, drugged again.

And the system doesn’t help.

And, some people see this, know the truth and enable it to continue. Too afraid to stop it.

The system is failing us all.

Families who try and stop this abuse are left heartsick and helpless. Powerless to stop it.

And the world debates gay marriage.

Children die.

What are we thinking? This makes no sense. Why are we critical of mothers breast or bottle feeding? She’s feeding.

I can’t hear the shouting about what matters I just see you fighting and arguing about things that don’t matter.

Some days are hard.

I hear people say “Where are the families?” We are here. Trying to be heard.

Some days are hard.

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