The Past: A Poem by Chris Reed

I often fathom, why did I suffer

A fatherless life, and a drug addict mother?

The tears, the fights, or maybe the other

Pain that I feel like losing my brother.


I would groan as a kid, because I couldn’t eat,

Or maybe because I had no place to sleep.

A normal, caring family is all that I seek,

But my mother met crack, as I met the streets.


I did not pick the cards I was handed,

But the hand that I had would be mostly abandoned.

My heart is scarred, and couldn’t be bandaged

At the fact that my own blood would leave me stuck stranded.


My past makes my character, so I arose magically,

Hopping over obstacles to overcome tragedy.

I’m strong on the outside, but my inside feels agony

That I had to become a man so young and dramatically.