The story of the invisible 

This is a story about the creeping father. The one who looks at the wrong times

Or the one who touches when he shouldn’t. 
This is about the man who stole the woman 

And used her for an ATM again and again and again. 
This is the story about the little girls life 

Who was stopped to short because she had an overdose of a drug she did not want to take so she wouldn’t feel the pain. 
This isn’t a story about my father 

Or about my life or someone I know. 

But maybe your father. Or your life or someone you know. 
I’m an activist because i was not a victim. 

I speak up because I haven’t lost my voice

I help others because they can’t help themselves. 

I do something because it’s possibly I’m the only one who will. 
Your voice is a megaphone 

Your fists are shields 

Your eyes are a blanket 

Your smile is the only happy thing someone might see in their day 
You. Are. A. Weapon. Of. Mass. Effect. 

Not of mass destruction. 

But of mass creation. 

A creation of good. 




In the midst of the pain. 

InThe war. 

The hate. 

The arguments. 

The abuse. 

The tears. 

The fights. 

The killing. 

The bombs. 

The moving. 
You are the solid ground. 

You are the good. 

You are the ray of hope. 

You are the help. 

You are the smile. 

You are the pick me up. 
To those who no longer can do those on their own. 

To those who are bound in chains 

To those who are sold 

To those who Have no voice 
You have hope. 

And it’s inside of us. 

You have hope. 


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