By Shymir Miles

They took me from my parents, 

They threw me in a cage; 

There’s only room for eight people here.

But it was packed with forty-one. 

There’s not enough food, 

There’s not enough water

— We drink from the toilets —

Not enough blankets, 

Not enough mats, 

Even during a pandemic;

We share combs, 

And sleeping spaces; 

Soap and toothpaste.

We share clothes when we have them,

We’d share medicine, if we could.

We’re too little for them to care,

We shouldn’t be here.