Our latest post comes from someone I personally have known since I was in sixth grade. Through the power of Facebook, we were reconnected some years ago. Her situation is not talked about often enough, and I am honored to have a space for her to express her art. She wrote this beautifully haunting poem about her oldest child, and I hope it touches your heart the way it touched mine. – C
Kate was born in Colorado. She has two sons that are now teenagers. She hosts a YouTube channel called advoK8great, where she is a burgeoning lifestyle change coach. Kate firmly preaches the ideals of Believe, Practice, and Evolve. You can also see her work on her Tumblr page.
An Ode to My Child
Encouraged to write
About something more.
So, here I am to say aloud
There are many things of which I am not so proud.
What happens when
You were a child yourself when you began?
To birth a child at 14 seems absurd…
But you persevered,
Year after year,
Only to find that child had a different idea in mind.
For it’s life and future,
One that you NEVER thought you’d have to endure.
I can’t seem to find the words to say
That I feel I failed this child at some point, some way.
How do I say
Secrets I’ve kept from society?
All in an effort to prove,
I’m just as good as you.
With a child that seems to prove otherwise…
Disregarding all you taught,
The things you stood for and showed them to Not –
Yet, you see the regret.
You feel the shame, the hurt.
And by this point ran yourself into the dirt.
Your actual self regressed,
By ideas and opinions imposed,
By those whom will never know your path,
Or the child’s path.
You just hope for self love at last.
At some point I may disclose,
The hurt that has been imposed.
But for now, I’ll hang low,
Feeling alone in the misery,
That is apparent day after day.
I see the right words to say,
That my child chose a life in gangs.
And my heart hurts, my stomach pangs,
Knots in my throat
A sure loss of hope.
Will “my son” ever be mine again?
Or is he trapped in this stupid fucking cycle of sin?
Sentenced to three years in a juvenile facility.
It breaks my heart to see.
On our first visit the truth to our “system” made evident.
When he enters with tattoos on his face…
I feel nothing but utter disgrace.
Sick to my stomach,
Knots in my throat,
Holding back tears,
I feel I lost hope.
How did this happen?
He was suppose to be “safe”,
Yet I see the fallacy.
And I am disappointed –
Full responsibility, to myself I’ve appointed.
And I don’t know what to do.
Hurt each time I see you,
For the face I once knew.
Is it never more, never more?
My heart is just so damn sore.
Was this a matter of survival?
Backed into a corner?
This poem in progress may not be used without permission from this page, or the author. Thank you!