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Literature Text
Now, as I stare out on
these desolate streets
I see the ghost of a
father I have yet to meet.
From a very young age,
it’s been me and my mom.
No man to come home to,
no dad of my own.
I know mom did her best
but she needed some help;
I deserved a father figure,
now I’m out here- not grown.
The streets call my name,
to hustle, fight and act out.
Just like my mom always
worried so much about.
Now I’m fourteen and
some say, out of control.
Lost in this world with
no father to hold me.
Can I survive these streets
living unscathed and free?
Instead of in a cage
with other boys like me?
1/3/18 My first poem of the year, requested by a friend based on this subject: about young black men being raised by the streets instead of their fathers. She will be reading to one of her groups.
© 2018 - 2024 EvilScarrlett
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