Listen to the silent cries no one wants to hear, falling on deaf ears the cries of a child.
Where are the ones to protect them? Hold them close tell them that everything will be OK. Instead the woman who brought them into this world has strayed. Daddy never too been seen by the light of day because he says "That ain't my baby."
You the saying, momma's baby daddy's maybe. In this case though momma wasn't anywhere to be found. Growing up, raised by the streets. Bounced from house to house, none which you stayed long enough to call a home. A home to say you laid your head to rest. That all fears never made it past the front gates. But instead every night when you laying in your bed, holding the only thing you love for dear life shaking and waiting because you know another piece of you is going to die that night. To them, you’re just another government check. Just another bank number. Just another faceless child.
Worn down shoes and tattered clothing. Barely food to eat because "Mommy dearest" used the money for a new Gucci instead of filling up the fridge. So instead of a hot meal, you reduced to cold grits and spoiled milk, but for even that you are thankful.
Listen to the silent cries no one wants to hear, falling on deaf ears the cries of a child. Since you had no one to turn to the violence is what consumed you.
Angry.
Lashing out in school to gain some sort of attention just to hear the words "I care about you." Even if it's from a teacher. Even though you know, they say it to all their students, but those words you still hold close to heart. Sooner than later stopped meaning anything and you go out to find that,
Acceptance.
From of group of people who mean you no good, but they bring you into their "family" by either a beating or a gang fucking. You'll do whatever you have to do in order to fill that void of
Loving missing that
Nurturing. Not really knowing what that feels like, so this substitute will have to do. Following your new found family.
Introduction to drugs and drinking to numb your pain
Sex to forget that this reality every existed, but that only lasted for a brief minute.
Listen to the silent cries no one wants to hear, falling on deaf ears the cries of a child. Now 18, been doing this gang thing. Running the streets all wild. Selling crack to the addicts; even the pregnant ones, but you don't care. You never had a mother or father that was there. Hell in your mind you saving the little bastard for enduring the life that you did. A mother and fatherless child. So deep in the game, so many court case, been put on probation and heart is Calais and cold now. The place where your soul should be is filled with poison. And every happy child with a family you see; is you enemy because you're filled with jealously and envy. Hatred and shame and everyone is blamed for you unhappiness.
That night you decide to empty what little feelings you had left into alcohol body that your "family" provided. Decided to get as high as you could that night and sex as many willing people as you could. Then to pass out in a high and drunken stupor. After that night not only your mind, but your body wasn't feeling right. You told your "family" how you were feeling and their words to you was to "Shake it off."
So you did.
Weeks and weeks go by and still your physical hasn't gotten better, yet the symptoms have increased. Erratic heart beats. Always feeling sleepy. No appetite and you’re losing weight dramatically. Dragging yourself into emergency to finally see what was happening. Blood was drawn and tests were taken. You swore you heard the doctor mistaken when he told you had contracted H.I.V. How much worse could your life be? Is the question you asked yourself? Leaving the office, heading home to tell your "family" the devasting news. They didn't take it so easy, and surprisingly to you; they disowned you. Kicked you out on ass, with nowhere to go. No one else to turn to. No extra money. No food. Just the clothes on your back. Broken and even more dishearten, you took the gun that your "family" have given you for protection. With the last little bit of money to your name you got a motel room. Pacing back and forth with the gun in hand. Tears falling from your eyes. The first time in years you have ever cried. You look up at the ceiling and scream "WHY LORD WHY!" Dropping to your knees waiting for an answer, but again, you hear nothing. Wiping soggy eyes and raising the gun to your temple, deciding to make death quick and simple. Squeezing the trigger, as you try to remember any happy times in your past. Nothing comes to mind. So quietly you cry...
POW.
Alone.
You die.
Listen to the silent cries no one wants to hear, falling on deaf ears the cries of a child.

Lady R © 2012