October 7, 2009
By Anonymous

Brown eyes, blue eyes
Crooked smiles, tilted heads
Brown hair, blonde hair
Children who had no idea of their future.

Forget the red socks and Dalmatian shirt,
Unclench your fists and drop the beer
Transform back into a child on a floral print bed,
Next to me with Cheerios in tiny hands.

Your father taking the picture,
Will never see your graduation picture
My turtleneck is itchy but I try to copy you,
Sit back down and play with toys again.

Instead of needles on your skin,
Do not let the drugs get to your head,
Your father does not see light
So be fortunate that you have that opportunity to absorb rays of the sun.

The white walls maybe dull
But they help to accent our clothes
Even though the white walls are no longer there,
Pretend you are a child again.

I have nothing else to say to you
But to breathe without drugs swimming through your veins,
Remember your childhood before
This all happened and drowned our memories.

The author's comments:
This poem represents a childhood photo of my cousin and I. It jumps into the pool of my emotions towards my corrupted cousin and that's why I chose the title, "Crooked."

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