Broken Faces
I look around and see broken faces.
I look around, and see people who want
To go places but don’t know how to get there.
I see little kids, ten-year olds, teenagers, adults
Who feel like they’re in this race with the people around them
The one job that could change my life
Would be one that lets me get into
The hearts and minds of these broken people
And offer hope.
To be a play therapist that travels the world
To help this little boy or that
Little girl make sense of the mess
That fills their tiny little souls.
One job could be the difference between
A Syrian refugee child’s downfall,
And their renewed childhood and joy.
One job could be the difference
Between me staying in my happy little comfort zone
Or being honored to go to different places
And live the horrors too many
Of these sweet, tiny faces
Have been forced to endure.
One job could be the difference between me getting stuck in
A single mindset, or getting to see places
And people, mingle with cultures and worlds
I know not of.
One job could be the difference between leaving a hurting child’s
Individuality and personality suppressed
Because of peer pressure or lack of friends
And a happy heart and a joyful smile.
One job could be the difference between
Letting this world continue in a downward spiral
Where too many people are content to live their lives
While those around them are hurting
Underneath their fake, tiresome smiles
And re-establishing hope, inspiration, and joy.
One job could be the difference between
My staying caught up in the same thing as always,
Continuing the game of not caring
About the people out there who need my help
And changing the world, one broken heart at a time.
But the first heart that would be changed
Would be mine, into a more empathetic,
Caring heart that has been hardened
And hurt with time.
Helping others will help me heal,
To feel what they feel and help them
Deal with the stuff going on inside.
The difference between wanting to change the lives of others
And the job that could change my life.