We arrive when the sun is high and beats down on the backs of our necks

A small crowd has gathered, but not enough, there is never enough

Quiet voices that are supposed to be loud, yell at us phrases and words that should register some reaction

But they don’t

Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes tick by

And then the call is given, it's finally time to march

We walk slowly towards the street, losing each other in the crowd, desperately grabbing onto those we can still reach so as not to get lost

I look around and realize that we have grown

There are more of us as we continue to march down this busy street in this chaotic and noisy city

We yell loud enough to be heard above the noise, we yell loud enough so that those at the top of the skyscrapers can hear us.

I look around and see a boy in a green sweater with fire in his eyes, yelling at the top of his lungs for his future and mine

I see an old woman, holding a sign saying that she stands with us and as we make eye contact, she gives me a smile

I see a little boy, clutching his mother’s hand and chanting along with her, jumping up and down to the beat of a drum that an older man plays

We march down this street for what feels like hours, but it's only been a few blocks

When we reach our destination, we die, falling one by one, a sea of bodies lifeless on the ground

And as we lay there, one voice speaks up in solidarity, “If things do not change, we will die”

As we lay there in the hot sun, others walk pass, sparing us strange and judgemental looks, but yet we remain dead

But we soon come back to life, brought back by the hope that we hold that things might change

The hope that things might get better, the hope that those we place in charge will finally listen to our cries of protest

The hope that we can fix the mess that was made and save our dying mother.