A Home is a Home

I lived in a minivan.

Parked outside of Mcdonalds.

Party of nine all in a van

Other than it wasn't a party, it was my home.

I lived in a minivan. 


And on the cold freezing New Jersey winter nights and days, we stayed in that van.

It's hard steel walls provided me and my family a sense of safety

Seven kids, two adults.

I lived in a minivan.


Often times, my momma had to get up from her short hour or two periods of sleep to move the van before police showed up to move us out of our spots.

I was so young.

Why would those mean pigs make us move from the spot that we were in?

Did they not understand our struggle? Did they simply not care?

While they probably had big two-story red brick homes with real heaters

I lived in a minivan.


On the night's momma had to move the car, she parked by the woods.

The trees always looked so scary from where we were.

I stayed up many nights with momma telling her it was for her safety and security but it was much more for me.

I stayed up till the sun came creeping back up and the scary trees turned to innocent shrubs in the distance.

I never really appreciated how beautiful sunrises were until,

I lived in a minivan.


And then the day came where I got the good news.

We drove away, far away from the stupid forest. That Mcdonald's parking lot. 

Momma kept going. 

No longer was I going to suffer while cramped up in such a small space.

I was going to get a bed, an actual bed that I can lay on.

One that didn't smell like leftover fast food and didn't force me to lay upright if I needed to sleep. 

I was going to finally live a normal life that I longed for like the other children.

A life in a home with real food and real walls. 

I no longer was going to live in that minivan. 



This poem is about: 
My family


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741