School starts at 8 am whether or not I’m there.

My mom expects me to get my siblings up and ready for school–

but I can’t do all that, I’m only eight years old.

Finally my mom walks in wasted after a late night,

but she doesn’t help me, she goes right to bed.

She wasn’t capable of providing the care and support we needed,

that I needed from her.

Her eight kids are sitting at home, school being missed again–

but that was the last strike no more days.

The court had declared her unfit as a mother,

which left her with no choice but to surrender her children.

Next week school was missed again–

this time it was different.

The police officers showed up at my home and told us they were “taking us for a ride”,

but ended up stripping me of my mother, my home, and my life.

I sat among my siblings in the back of a cop car,

wondering what was waiting for me. 

Relentless questions were floating through my mind.

Where are we going? What are we going to do?

My family was separated by age, some I never got to see until I was an adult.

Dreadful memories fill my mind of the place I was forced to call “home”.