ive been trying so hard,

searching for my privileges 

in the faces of the poor and the diseased and the alone

found my privileges, in places where there were none.

ive been trying so hard,

to feel happy

but my privileges dont matter

when i hear my dad slurring

and my mom crying.

a broken home, is all i ever knew

grew up, to sounds of tears and the rhythm of alcohol.

a ten year old waited, for her parents to kill each other.

ive been trying so hard,

to be ok to be myself,

but there is something about this broken-ness,

these privileges, exist together, this sweet amalgamation, 

maybe im crazy,

or this is what broken homes do to you,

dreams too broken-

hopes never shaken,

privileges, i still recognize.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s