You say that your family don't love you,
But they really do.
Your parents prayed for you to come home that night, But instead they found you with a needle still stuck in your arm.
Sitting on some street corner
Begging for some change.
They spent all they had
Trying to clean you up,
So you could come home
To the family that misses you.
Yet You chose to go back, to the so called friends who left you for dead when you overdosed.
Sayin that your family deserted you, that they don't know what it's like to really feel pain.
But they do...
They felt it the day they finally had to burry you.
YOU ARE READING
The Rose That Grew From Concrete
PoetryPoems I've wrote over the years From a young teenager to the adult I am today. Poems have always been my way to express how I'm feeling an what I'm going through, it's Me being vulnerable, laying it all out there. I always said "if I don't talk abo...
