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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The fourth out of seven right in the middle born to a single parent a woman who's only sin was love, one found his in drugs the other found it batting her eyes while one lost it with murder, the youngest found it following steps, now on the streets, in a cell, lonely, lost, and sick wondering how, why, what went wrong crying for a mother that rest up above. they care now, they did n`t when she wept. for years our roads never crossed brothers and sisters by blood torn apart by pride silenced by gilt, " Keep them together do it for me." a mothers dyeing wish a sons endless battle, from the oldest to the youngest I stand alone in the middle tiered of the games frustrated by there ways, is this how mom felt. we all hurt from abuse that was unjustified we all cried from the pain in side why am I the only one who separated from the rest of the cattle. who we are what we have become and where we will go is our doing there is no one to blame, she did her best she did all she could I know because I stand tall, my spirit is free my soul is cleansed and the past.... does not run me, the fourth out of seven right in the middle ...we are the same. I didn't need the gangs, the violence, the drugs, the excuses, I had mom I had three older three younger and a chance to be. I never say how, why are what, I know I felt the same way but mom made me like she made you, to see what the blind see, to hear what the deft hear and to fill like your not used but brand new.
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