My Foster Parents

Sun, 06/09/2013 - 04:05 -- Remy

Hopes and dreams cut every few months,
like the front lawns of our suburban neighborhood.
Notice how they hate to see growth.
As soon as there are any signs of it,
they come, machine in hand,
ready to cut it down.
College scholarship came in the mail today.
The sound of a shredder could be heard.
From my bedroom I weep,
as my dreams are destroyed
before I can pursue them.
C-U-T back down to size,
groomed to their liking,
success seems out of reach.
Their biological children are like the forest;
blooming beyond control.
I, the stepchild am the front lawns
of our suburban neighborhood
constantly mowed at any sight of growth.

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