Disposable Children

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You were born to mothers who threw you in dumpsters

Like Kaihla did Isaiah

Little seeds planted in concrete, trying so hard to find your way up

At night you stay up laid up

Wondering what you ever did to not be good enough

Uprooted from your soil always having your foundation changed just when you begin to plant your roots

No wonder you were never able to grow

Progress comes slow

Because the nurturing you need is not free

At least not when you’re a child of the county

Your parent figures rely on the figures of their paycheck

And society says it’s your own fault that you’re a wreck

Says that you have no sense of respect,

When no one ever showed you what respect looked like

And it should be something that’s wielded unto you all the more

You, children of the night, have gone through more than any of us can imagine

And we just brush you off in a nonchalant fashion

We could learn a few things from you

Like, how to survive

How to hold your own when really you’re dying inside

It’s not fair; that therapy can’t do anything to solve the life you were born into

It’s not fair that you ALWAYS have the rug pulled from under your feet when you begin to

Improve

That word alone, when whispered, during your evaluations feels like an uphill battle

Because no matter how hard you try there’s something else,

The staff has recorded

Something else

The administrator wants you to perfect

AND

Something else your social worker forgot to tell you to do

Haven’t all these people in all these positions got a clue?

You are their work but they know nothing of what it’s like to be you

At 5 o’clock they put you behind them

When you really need someone standing behind you when,

Their off-hours are your peak hours of vulnerability

Hello! We’re all humans.

These children will mess up, just like us-

 Have you ever considered that possibility?!

They’re no more perfect than us

But one slip-up and its back to square one

Why do we hold them to such strict standards we don’t even treat our own like that?

No wonder they feel like there’s no battle to be won

We keep telling them that the end is right around the corner

When their journey has only just begun

These poor tortured souls endure all this

And we wonder why they slit their wrists or turn to drugs so young

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