Hidden Pain of a Foster Youth
Location
Who am I?
I am the byproduct of "niggas" and "crackas":
caramel skin, nappy black hair and dark chocolate eyes.
I am more than meets the eye.
I am a dusty book that has yet to be opened,
I have a story to tell.
Are you listening?
I have known
a painfully empty stomach,
bruises on my skin,
and frustration mixed with grief
as I realize that my brother had an
accident
on the last blanket we had to keep warm.
I have known a house without
food,
water,
or electricity,
a cold street corner;
walls of homeless and domestic violence shelters;
a backpack with everything I can carry
(buried within)
I am acquainted with
rules that come with being in foster care,
caseworkers who visit me at school,
pointless investigations resulting from
false reports
and accusations.
I am the girl
who smiled through the hurt
and laughed,
even though I really wanted to lie down and cry
My teachers saw the afflicted child I was
lent me a distraction
that lead to a passion:
learning.
Without my teachers
I
Dont
Know!
where I would be today.
And I sit here
Facing my obstacles
Who am I?, you ask
I am a foster kid,
a survivor,
and most of all, a dreamer.
In my life,
NOTHING
will stop me
from reaching for the stars...