I am working—slaving until the skin falls off my back
I wonder what chalk sounds like across a board
I hear only the incessant hum of harmful machines
I see a heaping pile of my worst enemy, a workload
I am covered from head to toe in a film of coal dust
I pretend to be willing for my family’s sake
I feel a void that can’t be filled; separation from loved ones
I touch the black and blue that "adorns" every inch of my body
I worry that the light of day shall never reach this prison
I cry my heart out and tears cascade down a steep hill
I am the engine at the bottom of an insurmountable peak
I understand that all our days on earth are numbered
I say prayers, yet they do not escape from behind these bars
I dream of a life in which I am free to do as I please
I try to not tally on dirt-encrusted walls by low ceilings
I hope to start anew and have a clean slate
I am clinging on to the last shred of my sanity
Author's Note: Dedicated to "Faces of Lost Youth" and written in the special "I Am" format. A rememberance of the child laborers who lost their lives too soon. At the right, a picture with an original caption from Lewis W. Hine, a famous photographer.
