A comment was made during the conversation in the wounded Healers room today, that really brought both joy and sadness into my heart. …that we were not all free until all enslavement, modern slavery, trafficking, forced labour was ended. The prompt that followed, the prompt that singly captured my attention was “I've been on the freedom trail for a while.” I couldn't share a response in the room as I had a grandchild's birthday party to attend. So I thought I would share here, a little ginger boy's view of freedom. The bus stop refferd to in the scribble is real. I stood at it, in the rain, the night I stopped being.trafficked for sex as a child Destination Freedom. One long argument with a bus shelter Three walls of concrete, may have been tin All those angry words… bit if an old scribble Written around 1988 Came one night, late A bus stop waiting for a ride to freedom I’ve been on the freedoms trail, awhile It began at a bus stop, February 1978. Not some metaphor, I'm literal you see Trafficked for a decade, that bus stop The end of my plight was freedom for me. Words as true as her ebony and ivory keys “Freedom is no fear” I truly do believe. Sadly there is no direct bus to freedom Because nurtured fear stays in the mind Thought of words turn thoughts unkind Enslavement, trafficked, modern slavery. It's all the same to a human commodity Standing at that bus stop, was my liberty Didn't understand what had been done to me No idea a child sex slave was even a thing to be The price of ignorance was continually rising The cost to me was more than my cost The price paid for a convenient commodity Birth they say can be traumatic for some Being born again at a bus stop isn't easy Reborn with fearful recall of the previous Paid half price on the bus, I was still a child An old commodity child, of seemingly no use No idea about the global trade in children But new what's to done to things of no use I suppose I'm travelling to freedom still Freedom from ignorance, discovering truth