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Lorenzo Jones

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Member Since: Dec, 2009

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Little Girl Grown
by Lorenzo Jones

Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Rated "PG" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Lorenzo Jones
•  Senseless Resolve to Ignorant Ambitions
•  The Apartment
•  Stereotypical impressions
•  My Liability
•  Poetry
           >> View all 10

About a little girl growning up before her time.

I remember the days as such,

Me on the sidewalk jumping double-dutch,

My only responsibilities, going to school and doing chores.

Now to make it I have to do so much more,

I use to play game like, step on a crack,

If you did, you broke your mother’s back,

But the crack that she fell into broke her back.

It has consumed her as an addict.

So fast I’ve come so far from where I’ve been.

For that they nickname me "the little woman."

Some say I’m a midget,

For acting so grown and my age is in a single digit.

I use to argue with my sister and be annoyed by my brother

But now for their sake I must be their mother.

There’s times when my moms great and seems the same,

Then she’s angry, distant, then at night taking our change.

It use to be my room, the dishes, sweep the floor and all spots in between

Now it’s the whole house and make sure my siblings are clean

I still go to school, still do my work

It’s just so much pressure, so much hurt.

I miss running through my building, running through my halls,

I miss having tea parties and playing with barbie dolls,

I miss going out playing hopscotch,

Now it gets late and I stare at the clock.

Patiently, patiently I wait,

Hoping, praying, that my mom makes it home safe,

Wondering if she feels what she does is worth her high?

As I answer questions I don’t know and reasons why.

Tucking in my brother and sister as tears fall from my eyes,

Hoping that I get a decent night of sleep.

For this next day where I seem to hold the world

on my shoulders with strength and firmly planted feet.

As I cook breakfast I stand on a chair

and look out the window of my neighborhood,

Wishing I could get back my childhood,

Then for better not worse things would change,

As I think back to playing those games

Maybe I could loose my nickname.

I know it’s a lot of things I’ve shown,

But I’d rather be a kid instead of grown.

I hear the rhyme, step on a crack,

Break your mother’s back,

But the Crack my mom stepped on

made her an addict.

 

 

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