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Childhood
The years of a child
Should be carefree
The years of a child,
that is,
Every child but me.
Most children grow
With wings upon their back,
That is,
Every child but me.
Born to mothers who cannot cope,
Placed in homes devoid of hope,
These children like me do exist,
But our tears dissolve to mist.
I believe in a God above,
And my pain has made me strong,
There's a purpose behind past wrongs,
And a life to look forward to,
That is,
For every child, even me.

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