They stand in their camouflage, with their guns,
Looking at us like we’re only there for fun.
After they’re done with us we feel the need to run,
But when we run, we end up alone, with no one.
They say it’s just the job,
But quietly we sob.
They say it’s just a hazard,
But as we climb the ladder,
We keep on getting battered,
With their blows until we shatter.
They treat us like toys, but never as equals,
But I don’t want to be part of this narrative, nor the sequel.
I don’t want to feel like lesser,
I no longer want to run from this agressor.
I want to put an end to the harm,
But it seems there is no way to sound the alarm.
No more bruises.
No more excuses.
We are not less.
I don’t deserve this.
This is not just an occupational hazard.