India.
A crowded train.
You make your way down the aisle – crawling.
You stop at each cabin, reaching out your hand.
You stop in front of me.
They told me to tell you no.
They told me that I was supposed to look away.
They told me that I should just ignore you.
But I wanted to give you what you needed.
But I wanted to give your eyes the attention they hungered for.
But I wanted to show you that you mattered.
Is that not why I am here?
You don’t understand.
You just see me, a young white woman who turns away.
No compassion.
You see just another person who doesn’t care.
I care.
But they say that to give to you is to be tricked.
But they say that to give to you is to be targeted by more people begging.
But they say that to give to you only fuels the industry that crippled you and forces you to do this.
But. But. But.
Do you think that I’m annoyed?
Do you think that you disgust me?
I’m not annoyed – I’m heartbroken.
I’m not disgusted with you – only disgusted with myself.
I’m so sick of rules that keep me from moving.
I’m so sick of my flesh.
I’m so sick of the problem seeming too big to do something.
Anything.
Don’t you understand that my God is bigger?
Why don’t we move?
I came to share hope. I came to bring purpose. I came to give life.
You reached out and touched my leg in a last attempt to move me.
My soul broke for you – I beg you heard that in my tears.
