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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2117140-Freedom-Writer
Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2117140
A look into my childhood...
I lay here tonight and can't sleep,
because the weight of the fight runs deep.
Your words course through my brain,
and I find the source of my pain.
Something you don't look for, but you find.
Something you don't work for, but you call mine.
Mom says if he pulls a gun, grab the baby and run.
Don't make any second thoughts, caus' it's just a second lost.
Instead he pulls a knife and threatens my moms life.
Before I reached for the gun, I knew my time was done.
The knife was turned on me, so was my mother.
Her pipe burns on me while he beats my little brother.
I thought it would be different this time...
Is it a sign? Green or red?
I forgot what the Bible said...
I won't pray anymore, caus' God don't say nothin' anymore.
And so the pen is my only friend,
And I hide behind the lines of my rhymes...

I'm writing to be set free, explore the heights of being me. I
I'm a freedom writer, so I always hold life a little tighter.
A freedom writer has a choice, a freedom writer has a voice.

I have no one to talk to... No one to help me walk through... This shit placed before me,
So there it sits, waiting for me.
The family and the violence,
The courts and the silence,
The gangs and the alliance...
The last time I walk in the house
I found him sitting on the couch, soaking wet.
So I drop my things because I know this set.
I rush in the bathroom to find, this time he really lost his mind
"Mom look what I wrote.." but all she does is float.... lifeless...
How could he do her like this?
Automatically and melodramtically I take out my pen, reunited again..

I'm writing to be set free, explore the heights of being me. I
I'm a freedom writer, so I always hold life a little tighter.
A freedom writer has a choice, a freedom writer has a voice.

Today I dress over bruises, Getting ready as my mind cruises..
Driving through the paths of my brain, and my heart is twisted in pain.
Tears under the eyeliner, I feel like part of me has run away and I wish to find her.
What can I say? Not a thing to a soul. Not a story so cruel.
Even though it's mine, I will tell it in a rhyme...
CPS took me away and DPS booked him away.
Before I went to testify, he said it'd be best if I lie.
But I never got to tell her goodbye....
And now tears fall like rain... Precipitaion,
repeating the pain...
Still I say nothing of this situation... I pull out my pad of paper,
And write a story of how I should have saved her...
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2117140-Freedom-Writer