Posted in Poetry


Where are the parents in this play?
Except it real, I may have walked on by
you sitting in shame
head held low and the tears held back,
they sting and hurt too bad.
You want to save yourself but don’t know how.

The guilt and blame -thick to pass around
from the basket you reach in
paint yourself blue
all for their satisfaction -they chant
“Go ahead. Do it. I will tell you how.”
I want to be your hero.


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