Sometimes I want to go home,
It’s cold out here.
My clothes n shoes –
Dirty. Nnnm ripped…
I’m fallin asleep with no dinner.
I shrug it off, like, hey.
Least we’re trim, eh, guys?
And, like, the other kids I live with are even thinner than I am..
One of my friends is out here because his mom got sick from cancer. passed away.. He sort of ran away, too, from his social worker crap, though.
When I think about that,
I wonder if I made a mistake
by running away.
I ain’t sayin’ the S word, eh?!? I’m jus sayin..
He’s out here like I am
because his parent died.
Like. His parent is dead.
Can’t have her back, no matter what.
You an I are both alive,
and I just left?
We choose not to be family?
He’d do anythin to have his mom back.
any reasons we had to be estranged seem stupid, sometimes.
I THINK ABOUT YOU EVERY DAY NOW, DAD.
IT’S NOT FUN OUT HERE, ANYMORE.
I even miss goin to school, sometimes. That’s how stupid difficult it gets, us out here by ourselfs, eh?
I wonder all the time
what would you do
if I pumped change into the library payphone and tried to reach you. Not that I kept your cell phone number. I don’t have any phone numbers anymore.
Would I chicken out and hang up before I even said “hello?”
Would you flip out at me, dad?
I’d be like,
It’s not an emergency, I promise.
I’m just callin jus because, okay??
Because I lo…..
Because I’m sor….
Because I’m very exhausted!!
I wonder if I could jus go home for one meal,
one night of sleeping safe
in a real safe house.
I want to see your face,
because the last time I saw you,
a year or so ago,
I didn’t know what I would feel like,
never seein it all the time.
If that makes any sense.
I know you say I don’t make sense.
You’d be so disappointed in me, I know it. Sitting in front of the library, all dirty and tired,
Strangers have swore at me before. They’ve spit on me before.
Even if I did call you,
I’m ten hours away.
It wouldn’t do me any good.
I’m jus sayin, I think
This whole thing is stupid.
I want to look at you an know you’re the same as when I left.
I can’t barely survived out here without fishing more school.
My hair is longer.
I’m a bit taller.
Not much good this past year. I’ve seen a lot of fugged up things.
I don’t have a phone.
I don’t have your number.
I don’t have a mailbox.
I’m ten hours away from you, dad,
That’s too far for me to get home, now.
What the eff am I sposed to do, now, dad?
I want to go home.
I’m too scared to reach out and say so.
Workers at the youth center maybe would know what to say, but. I don’t say.
Well. I hope you know,
You prolly already know,
Your street kiddo really really wants to go home and see you sometimes. I just wandered too far away.