In A Nut Shell

I grew up with little with dreams of gaining a lot.

 I made friends with the best of them, trying to avoid the stereotypical plot.

Not wanting to be judge before a jury of my peers.

Telling me I’m guilty because of what I did over the years.

Not making eye contact because I knew I had nothing left in me.

Giving up what I believed was nothing but greed, selfishness and envy.

 

My mom couldn’t tell me anything. She was just as lost.

Selling herself on the streets, saying it’s was all for me,

But how many men would it take for her to realize,

all I needed was a friend, supporter, encourager.

Someone there till the end.

 

She told me my father was a bum; I wouldn’t know I was young.

For all I know he could be one of the dope boys on the corner.

Asking me if I’m eighteen yet, as if it really matter,

one moment alone with me

and they wouldn’t hesitate to make my belly fatter

 

School was no longer an option anymore.

I was out casted, branded as a whore.

Given two options, stay and endure, or walk through that door.

Not looking back I took option two, because what else did I have to loose.

 

Coming home to my mom passed out on the couch.

Needle still in her hand, some random man hands down her pants

Sneaking by, ignoring the situation because it will only get worse,

now that my mom is done, he’s looking for someone else to put in work.

 

Waking up every morning, head emerged in the toilet bowl.

It was only a matter of time before I became part of that world.

As my belly start to rise I can’t help but notice the look in my mother’s eyes.

Not disappointment, anger or remorse but complete and utter joy

because now stripping is my only choice.

 

Now that I’m having a beautiful baby girl.

 I no longer care about the worries of the world.

I’m determined to show her love,

I don’t want her to endure this lifelong drug.

The struggles, disappointments, and heartaches will not be a part of her life equation.

Instead I will force her to strive so in the end she can say she made it,

but how far am I willing to go

to make sure my little girl won’t just be another hoe

 

 

 

Fifteen years filled with blood sweat and tears,

why would I want to meet the man who claimed I wasn’t his?

Are the errors of his ways finally catching up to him?

Trying to make amends wherever he can,

but I’ll let him know this;

I am no longer that little girl longing for her father’s love and affection.

I am a mother shielding her child from this lifestyle of poisonous injections.

 

 

Looking into his eyes, cold, empty full of lies.

Who was this man standing before me in this disguise? 

Not the father in my dreams,

the one who tucked me in at night and promised never to leave.

No this was a man of mystery,

 a man of the night who was never precise.

A man with empty promise, just one question whose father is this?

 

 

 

Guide that inspired this poem: 

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