Poems of a Lost Girl

The order of Sufferage

As I stock these already full cabinets and listen to them bitch, I shake my head and laugh a bit, I think to myself how they would never survive the way I did.

Petty problems, coming from a pampered home. They’ve never once struggled and now they think they are some sort of martyrs because they can’t have soda from a fountain every day, “Oh woe is me, I can’t have it my way!” Now maybe I am being too harsh, after all pain is relative, and everyone goes through something different. I know they have never had to choose between food and a light bill, but still how can they be so ungrateful? I wake up every morning to a bowl of oatmeal someone else had to skip so I could have, and then I skip lunch so the food I would of eaten can go to my little brother, mother or dad. For dinner my mother throws something magical together out of food I didn’t even know we had, and we all eat happily because it’s the most filling meal we’ve eaten all day. Our grocery lists consist of things we need just to survive. The most food we get now comes from my grandmother or me, a girl who started going to the food pantry with her mommy as a preteen and now does it all by herself at just sixteen. I’ve heard “We’re going to lose the house this month. . .” More times then I’d like to admit. I sat across from my grandmother trying to soothe her as she broke down, feeling like a failure to her family once again. She’s getting too damn old for this!  All the extra money in the house goes to drugs and alcohol so my parents can try to forget that upstairs are empty cabinets. Sure we have smart phones, none of them have service. Usually they never did, because we could never afford it. I am one of the only people with a working phone in the house, because my boyfriend pays for it. My brother and I go without basic needs for weeks, sometimes it’s easier just to bleed in the same panties then to ask for toiletries. We don’t really need deodorant as long as we shower multiple times a week, I mean, we wash our bodies. Not always with soap but we have what we need.

So sure, sometimes I come over for the sole purpose of a few extra calories, sometimes the food I eat over there is the best I’ve had all week. Every so often it’s nice to have a treat.

My brother isn’t so lucky to have a best friend who’s family is more comfortable than us. His best friend is living with his single dad who struggles just to make ends meet. He always finds a way to feed a growing boy the best he can with a construction worker’s salary. For the past few years off and on they haven’t had hot water, and the house needs more TLC  than a season of “16 and Pregnant” but they are happy. They have food to eat and water to drink , with plenty of love to go around.

My two friends grew up in abusive houses, where they were either praying to a drug dealer or providing for 8 hungry mouths all under the age of 16 . I know all about having “Exactly the serving size amount” and clearing your plate. Growing up we all lived off the food pantry.

I get it, I understand it’s hard to live like this. How can you blame me though, when you bitch and moan about a life I would love to live?