Down Hill

 

I wrote a poem

                     And it was on white paper

                     With black lines

                     And I called it

                                 Happy

            And that was when it was Spring

                        And my friends came over 

            And when my father was with a nice lady

                       Who made me laugh

            And my mother found a good man

                        And he was sort of my dad

            And a boy moved in down the street

                        And he was sweet

            And my mom made art

                        Great paintings

            And I was happy

 

 

            I wrote a poem

                        And it was on yellow paper

                        With green lines

                        And I called it

                                    Change

            And that was when it was fall

                        And my brother got into trouble

            And when my father was with a rude woman

                        Who didn’t like me

            And my mother was with the same man

                        Who couldn’t see us quite as much

            And the boy down the street

                        Kissed me

            And my mom got busy with work

                        So she couldn’t paint much

            And things were okay

 

 

            I wrote a poem

                        And it was on white paper

                        With blue lines

                        And I called it

                                    Sleep

            And that was when it was winter

                        And I rarely saw my friends

            And my father was with a mean woman

                        Who ignored me

            And my mother argued with her man

                        And I didn’t get to see him much

            And the boy down the street hit me

                        But I never told

            And my mom stopped painting

                        And the canvases collected dust

            And I was always crying

 

 

            I wrote a poem

                        And it was on crème paper

                        With flower petals

                        And I called it

                                    Nothing

            And then was when it was night time

                        And I never saw my friends

            And my father got married to that mean woman

                        And moved far away

            And my mother was always quiet

                        And her man left us

            And the boy down the street raped me

                        And said I could never tell

            And my mom put her paints away

                        And she drank all the time

            And I stopped speaking

 

 

            I wrote a poem

                        And it was on white paper

                        With no lines on it

                        And I called it

                                    Help

            And that was when it was dawn

                        And everyone was sleeping

            And my father

                        Would never know I was gone

            And my mother

                        Wouldn’t miss me

            And the boy down the street

                        Won’t find me

            And I grabbed my mother’s old bag

                        And put away my things

            And walked out the door

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