“Don't you even try,"
They always seem to tell you;
I won't bring you down.

A little place
Named The Outpost
Was where I spent
Fourteen months of my short life
Two thanksgivings,
Two Christmases,
And my fourteenth birthday
All spent there
In the place that was my home
When I had no home.

I spent my whole eighth grade year there
And half of my ninth
In that ghetto little motel room
With the rest of my family
With its dark green carpet
Later on replaced for a pale peach
And the one bed my parents shared
And the one couch I called mine
And the floor my brother slept on
When he wasn't elsewhere
Yes,
It was very cramped
One room to the four of us
And it was horrible
Not having any privacy
Always having to deal with my parents
No escape
But I'm grateful for that ***** little motel room
Now that days are better
I'm grateful that I was able to learn
And be grateful for my current home
A small, cheap house
But nonetheless a mansion
Compared to the earlier mentioned

See,
Some people are put into trials
And they come out
With hardened hearts
But I came out
With gratefulness and understanding
Of the rough world around us all
And I know, it's tough
It's really really tough
But you know what?
Those fourteen months were hell
But I'm still here;

If I could do that,
Then you could overcome your trials and tribulations

I believe in you.

God, Felicia
Make up your **** mind!
Seriously.
Enough's enough.