“Jesus died for us, we will die for Putus!”

These were the words I chanted, two days before I was brutally murdered.

Now, I am 13 and dead.


I made the decision to give my life for a man

whom I thought had built a garrison of dreams for me.

Growing up in notorious West Killstown made me strong,

but I needed to be smart.


Exposed to a life of false realities

-we had no limits, no bills

our rules were not the rules of our country but of our DON.

He sent us to school-he stopped us from attending.

He raised our women and seduced our girls.

He killed, he punished, he was judge and juror.


So when the time came to protect him

I stood up.

Because, I did not want to stand alone!

I was only 13;

he had lived his whole life and I wanted to live mine.


Today, the sound of my mother’s scream rings louder

than the sounds of the guns that came barking into our neighborhood that day.

She wanted us out of the ghetto

“To be poor is a crime,” I can hear her cry; “my son, my only child.”


Can you tell her I wanted so desperately to get out

But, here I am

another name in the stories being told at the Ivoli enquiry.



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