Mama

Mama

by Kyla Moore

(Los Angeles, CA)

I don’t live with mama.

She lives her dangerous life.

She says it’s fun

up and down Pico and in my home city Bell Gardens.

I say it’s trouble and strife.

She likes the streets

and being on the run.

I sit and let my teardrops fall

while she’s with her tenth new boyfriend having a ball.

No wonder people say she was a wild child.

She is my struggle, my twin

not me, she is not I

even so, I try to stay sweet, calm, and mild,

when I am one of the three children who sit and cry,

while she’s somewhere out there sipping, and taking a hit.

Mother, we need ya.

You’re not here.

One day you’ll be gone, and that’s our only fear.

No way am I livin’ with mama,

she’s livin’ her fun life.

Nope, it ain’t fun at all,

it’s all trouble and strife.

This poem makes me...