PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

my mother was the child 

i was always the adult 

when i was five i was left

  with my younger brother 

she was always running after her boyfriends 

   sometimes they were girlfriends 

they were never nice 

  they smacked and hit and screamed 

that night with my brother 

   i heard sirens  wail

and instead of finding comfort 

    i felt ill 

to this day i hate police 

   and when the phone rings at night, i see her face 

drugs made her skinny and frail

   i remember this from when i was little 

and though i did not comprehend back then 

   the stores i hear now seem to have no end