On this morning there was nothing to wake for,
no eyes peeking around the corner,
no hand waving from the dented metal door,
no warm voice to greet me,
no friends to see.

It was not so different than any other day,
because every other day I wake the same.
The little one sleeps on,
since it is barely dawn.
And... her... aging hands are more troubled applying crap
to her to perfect her rap
than to waving or signaling a single care about us.
And his presence was once again lacking but I will wait until he is not busy
because he at least arrives and wants to see me.

Quite alone, sometimes it seems,
especially when I remember that most kids have friends and dates or sometimes a job or a fortune,
but I spend my time unsupervised, supervising, and trying to run my life,
when my mother cannot be bothered to care when it does not make her look better.