The orphans

I’m not Haley Mills,
blonde and perky
screwing an older man
For years I believed Ryan
loved Tatum,
when they acted in Paper Moon
she was 9 going on 30
we all thought she was acting
but it was a child’s broken heart,

society gives the orphans
some toys at Christmas,
then sticks them in foster homes
to be abused,

I am no Marcia Brady,
whose step daddy loved
her pony tails,
there are rough places
never to be loved,
boarded up with nails
every child who wanted
a crust of bread was stoned
there is no sister here whose
heart wasn’t sold into slavery
there is no reason to love
the children here pass pain around
like heroin
The kids scrounge deep for
a warm blanket of parental

Beaver would have been battered
for falling into a cup of soup,
Mom and dad don’t have the time
or the patience to fish him out
he can freeze out on the street
with all the children evicted
from their homes
and runnaway teenagers
violated by
their 12th birthdays,
children gather around fires
a murder of crows,
locked up

There is a nasty smell
of hatred
blood has torn the sky
with the truth of children
no one wants them
everyday a baby is found
in a dumpster
the lucky ones,
the rest are aborted
and their mothers go home
with flat stomachs so men will
still want them,
I carry the children under
my breasts that haven’t matured
nursing orphans
until someone loves them.

The orphans


Joined August 2010

  • Artist
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Artwork Comments

  • Peter Shanahan
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