Childhood
The kids here dont play,
They shoot drugs and guns.
Theyre too busy being fast to realize the
Preciousness of their childhood.
No one tells them its wrong.
It's all we know.
Daddy disappeared before
Your fingers appeared.
And mommys too busy working
To supply your vanishing childhood.
👁 2💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.