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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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