Sometimes I wish
I'd grown up like this
Where sorrow was the only sound
You could hear for miles around

Life being a struggle
Parents being unlovable
Where all they did was scream
At my siblings and me

Maybe if I'd been homeless
In a world that could care less
Then my pen would find to write
More in-depth the strife of life

Or forced into an institution
From what I'd been abusing
Caving to the pressure
Beyond what could be measured

Bit by bit I'd give the clues
Of a life worn thin by its abuse
Taking my writing lessons
From down the hall of deep depression

Helping with said writing
Heartache more inviting
Not this white boy, white bread
Poetry I seem to do instead