Wandering The Streets

I wondered the streets as a kid,

can’t remember half the places I went.

A drunken mother did not keep watch,

if she did, she would have given a swat?

Starting at seven -years -of -age, my walks had no aim.

Wondering through any part of the city,

 strangers could have had their way plenty.

I risked, unknowingly, myself from not seeing another day.

I thought it was all play.

Once I was trapped in a empty playground  tower,

 a stranger walked around it like a preditor.

I didn’t come out ‘til he had left,

what he was planning, I hope I never guess.

I crossed busy highways, roamed and played in the fields, and other places were children are often killed.

I was unseen by most, and not missed,

and then made it home to find no rest.

I went all day without a bite,

 sometimes not eve at night.

A mentally ill, drunken mother

doesn’t give any comfort.

Going to school long distance away, without a bus, puts a small girl in a tired rush.

No sack or money for a lunch left her not eating much.

Hoping for an early dinner,

 impossible for a drunken sinner, who stayed up all night banging on my door and yelling with all her might..

Letting anyone with an ear to hear how much her life was ruined by the birth of me, her child,

 and if it were not for me the marriage might have lasted awhile.

Silently, I laid in my bed trying to rest my weary head.

Ringing in my ears the yelling and screaming of my mothers' many fears.

Re-in-acting them one by one, it seemed she’d never get done.

I wanted to die just to be released from this terrine.

Even then I knew that fallen angles never fly,

 they burn in hell and never die.

The only peace I ever had was wondering from place to place,

where no one knew my little face or knew of my disgrace.

I was always ready to give a smile to whoever wanted to talk awhile.

It’s a miracle I wasn’t slain, thrown into a ditch or drain.

I figure I must have not been alone,

 my guardian angel must have been told to watch over me ‘til I had grown.

Maybe he lingers here still even while I look back on these unthinkable things that makes my heart ill.

I was once forgotten but not lost.

I kneel, in thanks, at the cross,

and praise God for the blessings in my life,

and I pray for my mother who lived in strife.

One small girl still stares at the passer-byes, as she wonders tired, hungry through the city

Surviving without her mothers’  love and mercy.