I’ve no memory of every one,

Just a few or maybe just some,

They seem to be part & parcel of my being,

Its sometimes hard for me to of them be seeing…

Memories of being whipped by dad,

Trying to araound me not be mad,

I was young & stupid, but its not my fault,

Was he mad at me, or himself,

For the way he raised me when he did of me assault…

Protected “sometimes” by mom, then not,

Like good cop/bad cop, they played off each other,

Mom too tried but was never really a good mother,

I stayed out of the house as much as I could,

But in a small town like Sea Isle, everything was out found,

When young I ran away a lot, never wanted to be around,

More than anything I guess I was running from myself, started then doing pot…