Don't get hung on petty things. String the sinner by his wings. In his head a brittle bone. The world is full of fishes. But I trust you. But I trust you. But I trust. Stick your finger in the hole. A thousand watts but you're not sold. Make you hurt. We love you more. You are not good enough for it. It doesn't need you anymore. ...
Voices of the Lost My name is missing, though I have a face. My name is vanished, and I need a voice. My name is lost; I yearn to be found. I am but a number. Though people have seen me, Though people have heard me, Though people have mocked me, I am not acknowledged. I am cold, depressed and lonely, though I am surrounded by people. My swollen eyes have looked on, straining to see the sun rise on yet another day. My parched, scarred skin speaks volumes of the actions of the soulless. People look onward. Around me Behind me Above me. Struggling to not recognize me. I have prayed. I have begged. I have pleaded. To be seen and heard. As a human. As a life. As a person. Is it for nothing? You make the decision. You disregarded us while we were here. Will you let it happen yet again? Think about it. by Liz Chipman in memory of the missing women in Vancouver, January 20, 2002
