A trafficked slave, no longer fit to serve
I am Arianne Jones (16) from New Zealand but living in the UK for school. I moved over here on my own, and want to try new things. Here is my poem called “A Far Away Place”. It is about a human trafficking slave and their ‘escape’. This is my one of my first ever poem/writing competition.
A Far Away Place
Arianne Jones
A long journey stands in front of me,
Calling me forth, almost begging me;
Asking me to leave my home,
My life, my worth, my love, my dreams.
Things that were once a prominent part of me.
–
I join.
–
I prepare,
For the torturous conversations that lie ahead,
Everlasting speech,
Forever I will have them alone.
–
Alone.
–
For a single soul will
Never be blessed again with the sight
Of my disarray, my disorder, this imbroglio.
Never again, I promise.
–
I promise.
–
I will cross lava filled cities;
with diamonds that rain down and slice my cheeks,
with my feet dripping candle wax, and my hair ablaze.
I will keep that promise.
–
I will.
–
I will sink to the bottom of the ocean;
With a fired match as my light, and my skin turning 100 years old,
Crumbling, burnishing and face the monsters of the deep.
I will keep that promise.
–
Watch me.
–
I will go into hell, let the fire rush over me;
Slice Beelzebub’s horn off and have the demons
Bite at my feet, and claw me down
I will keep my promise.
–
I promise.
–
Trust me, I won’t break it,
I want it to keep, like in fire I do.
I will do it all to never be seen once more.
To be forgotten,
–
Finally.
–
To be flamed and forgotten.
Forgiven?
A worthy full life shall fall;
To the heavens as my soul is burnt.
This is where my journey is heading,
A heady, mighty descent.
–
One’s free fall.
–
A reduction of my body;
Into a worthless bundle,
No more a burden,
No talisman for the ages.
–
No angel or archangel will keep me
From my destination, my destiny,
And final resting place. It can close;
The door on my face and be happy –
–
That I will hurt no more.
–
Bury me hundred feet down,
Bury me a thousand,
Just burn me.
I beg you.
–
Light the fire and see me rise
from the flames to my rightful place,
and let the angels burst back,
to the heavens.
–
Forget me; Remember me not.
I was me.
An escapee of the torture, an escapee of life,
An escapee of misery and pain.
–
A trafficked slave, no longer fit to serve
–
To be in happiness, an eternity of one.
–
A joyous occasion it must be;
To set me off on this final journey.
To have it welcome me in open arms that wrap around me;
caressing, burning my skin.
–
The fourth degree.
The hider of my scars.
–
The giddy, nauseating smell that overwhelms me before I am welcomed on this journey.
Liquid petrol causes my everlasting delectation.
–
Was I ever sane?
–
One would say those that can keep fighting,
As the ocean pulls them to misery are insane.
–
Or when the words slit their throat,
They run around headless attempting to reattach are insane.
–
People who refuse to ‘give up’;
To the overall power are the insane ones.
I am sane.
It seems I am the only soul that has a body;
That has sanity running through their veins,
Pumping their heart.
–
A normal existence.
–
Rationality is key. Happiness is the lock.
–
So, I continue on my journey,
A hint of self-assurance in my falling soul.
The crackle pop of the journey the surrounds me is loud in my ear
As it drinks the liquid that had once engulfed me.
–
Walking nightmare I am,
or so I am told.
–
I walk my journey.
A journey towards happiness,
Away from my owners.
A timeless love will keep.
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Forever.
–
And I walk off the edge of the world, never to be thought of again.
I am burnt from this planet.
A memory in ashes.
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Destroyed.
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Scattered.
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Gone.
Arianne Jones
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