I Am Homeless
I Am Homeless
As I walk to school, I cry.
I'm so warn out, mentally and physically.
I avoid everyone, like a turtle in it's shell.
I don't want anyone to see me in this state.
Will this painful life ever go away?
Yes, it will, I know...there will be a time.
They call me the class clown.
I get into a lot of trouble at school.
My teachers think that I am a pain in the ***,
when I get the whole class in an uproar of laughter.
That's probably why I was put in special ed.
After school I'm alone again, lost in my own flustered
I'm scared, lonely and I need a hug.
I hurt so deeply inside.
Who do I turn to, but my inner self?
I am my own best friend, the only person that I can trust.
I try so very hard to understand: What did I ever do?
When I grow up, all of this is going to change, if I make it
I always feel a presence, that some one is watching over me.
I know it's God, the One I always pray to.
But sometimes I feel He's not here with me. I know that He
must be busy...maybe there are other kids like me too.
I am hungry as I sit on my bed.
Shut in my bedroom, my place of haven.
I like my bedroom, I feel some what protected.
But my thoughts never go away.
Sometimes I cry in my pillow, sometimes I sing...I love to
sing, especially sad songs, the ones that I can relate.
But I don't dare to go down stairs. I just hate the thought.
I have to go pee.
He calls me: “The little bastard.”
I guess I am, cause I don't really have a dad. He left me
when I was four.
Now I have a stepfather...I wish that he would go.
Sometimes I sneak downstairs, and sneak a piece of bread,
fearful that I might get caught. I'm not allowed to snack.
At thirteen, why do I wish that I was dead? I might as well
be. This is no life for me...no one cares...except for God.
I wish that I could be with him.
I pray and pray each night,that this house will turn into a
home, a place of love. But that's only a dream...but dreams
do come true ya know?
Yes... it's finally after eleven, supper is coming soon.
But I'm way too tired to eat. I just want to go to sleep.
Sitting at the dinner table...I get dirty looks. I fight
back the tears.
Yes...he is so drunk as usual.
It's so hard not to feel hate...I don't like that feeling.
My mom is crying again. He's passed out. His face is on his
plate. It's a horrible sight. It sickens me, I want to run
Finally I can escape back to my room and say my prayers and
go to sleep.
I ask myself in the morning when I wake up: “I don't know
why I wet the bed.”
I am not looking forward to this new day, I wish I could
just stay in bed.
By Norm Beam