I am Growing up...
Not such a good thing, in the eyes of others...
A red headed little girl not living with her mother, not knowing her brothers,
Sisters, and mom's sleeping around with other misters.
I am a broken home...
Parents were never together, but mom had a thing for dad.
It was all quite kind of sad.
At that time I couldn't quite understand, why a mother would have to steal pots and pans.
Not to provide but to get high.
Living in a shelter in the Bronx, but not feeling sheltered at all...
I was just waiting for the next man to fall.
The love shared in the shelter wasn't like any other... felt just like it was coming from any mother
As I got older things changed, but not all for the better...
Most of the times eyes and pillows got wetter...
I am the early years
A book you'd never want to read
But yet the pages seem to be tattered and torn
The spine is battered and worn.
I am a bad book.
A book you'd never want to share
For only you see the meaning behind it.
Every page tells a story
And you’re the only one that grasps every single word.
For I’m a bad book.
Upon the first page your eyes start to water
As a picture of a little girl begging for a quarter from her mother
Crack pipe in hand
Money was of no issue but it caused one
Soon after the mother left.
Even through all of this a man,
Throughout tears and cheers was always there.
Just to make her smile and care for his
Emotionally fragile child
I am my father
For his love was always there.
I am his smile, which was always wide.
I am his everything, his joy and pride.
I am the streets of New York
The scraps and scars of its people.
I am the corner liquor stores and subways
I am the many streets and buildings
But after some years
I became the southern grass of Georgia
The long highways and winding dirt roads
I became one county with many little streets and stores
I became a mature young adult
Still hoping to find the other half of me
I became trouble
I became broken and battered
I became hurt and love
I became me.