I hold in my hand my last source of food
I squeeze it in my mouth
the sweetness envelopes my taste buds
growing increasing the ever small size of my belly
letting the taste of this orange last as long as possible
the orange becomes dried up
no more food to be found on the island
A baby sitter who can’t stand kids
A drunken father slaps his children around
A drug addict mother who sleeps and does nothing but get high
A sister who never comes home in time to protect the small ones
Our children are here on this earth to be loved
Not to be abused and used as slaves
Our children are not punching bags or our slaves
Stop the abuse against the innocent children
These children will grow up to be just like you
Our children need us to love them
The older siblings stand between the you and the younger ones
So stop all the abuse
The children need to be taken care of
All you parents out there listen to me
Heed my warning because your children will grow up to hate you
Stop all the abuse against the future of this world
Ode to the Man I Sometimes Call Dad
I lie awake at night
And converse with the darkness.
We discuss many things,
The blackness and I.
We had an interesting conversation
The other night.
I have been wondering lately
What it would be like
To be someone other than me.
If I were more like her,
Would you still Hate me?
If I weren't like me,
Would you realize that you produced two?
Could you know that we are equal,
Although not the same?
Could you be that open-minded?
Is it possible for you to see me
As the woman I've become,
Rather than the girl
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