Abandoned and thrown out into the darkness.
Witnessed the death of a child in my hands.
Still too young to carry my own weight,
But was still forced to work for money.
Obliged to wear plastic bags on my feet,
While walking down the snowy streets.
All I wanted for myself was to survive,
so I ran and found the best place to hide.
And at night, I could feel all the suffering on my shoulders,
along with the memory of my mother’s cruelty, who only got colder.
She wasn’t woman enough to take care of us,
she just tossed us around, hit us, and shouted so loud to create a lot of fuss.
My father however, was my hero,
until he became too scared and tired, and so he crouched and become a zero.
I was held at gun point for too many times to count,
and I tried to hold the gun towards my throat,
but I am still surviving, I am still thriving.
And for what?
For everything and nothing, for my insanity, for all my sufferings.
For all the pain I’ve witnessed, and more to come.
So again I ask you, for what?