How is this poem?? Do you think that there is anything wrong with it?
I think about you a lot.
More than I used to.
I think about you rotting behind bars,
about never getting to see you.
I forgive you
for what you did,
even though it was for me.
You
were helping me stay alive.
Sometimes I think about you
dealing the meth and cocaine,
and I get upset.
But then, I remember why,
and I’m okay again.
I see the people you deal to,
all skinny and weak,
like sick birds,
with their sunken eyes like zombies,
and their white, pastey skin,
like vampires.
I can see their bones,
poking out behind their skin,
and their scars,
from the multiple needles
stuck into their arms.
Why would they do this to themselves,
I wonder.
Why do they like this?
It makes them feel distant,
and happy,
and it takes all of their stress away.
But why would you help them do this to themselves?
I guess I will never know.
You might be doing this to make friends,
To make money,
Or you think that it is helping
Them.
It seems that only they matter.
You could have stayed with me,
You could have taken care of me.
You could have helped me be a better person.
You could have helped with my homework,
Or my school problems,
You could have helped me.
You could have loved me,
Just as I love you.
I could have a father.
A real father.
But no.
You decide, that prison,
Is better, than me.
So as I think about you,
A lot,
I will think about you rotting behind bars,
About never getting to see you,
About forgiving you,
And about hating you.
You
Should have stayed with me.
