Sunrise Cries from Ten Year Old Tears

Roaming alone in the dark, I embarked to carve a spark, from inside my mother’s arc, I arched and parched apart. And out of her I came, in pain, no Novocain, while tears of joy they rained, atop a bloody mane. Became the name of Jane, both first and last, insane, how very far from plain, a choice so dang arcane.
I was chained up in a crib, where I did what babies did, I fussed I fought I fibbed; dripped drool stains on my bib. I had no other sibs, just me so what I did, was crawl and call for kids, to play with me on ribs. But my calls were not returned, and my mom was unconcerned, because my dad was not around, skipped town and left us spurned.
I learned a lesson then, my mom was without friends, so she’d travel down to Ben’s, and throw down some Benjamin’s. Her spending knew no end, when it came to Jack and Henn, and time and time again, I witnessed investments spent, on booze and cigarettes, lit up to ease the stress, drank down the Coke and Crown, to drown out distant sounds. Of love that got away, at night I’d hear her say, come back to me my Chris, I miss you everyday. Once bliss now disarray, once kissed her lips decay; once missed now M.I.A., once rinsed now washed away.
The months and years passed by, I arrived at birthday five, so deprived but I survived, always strived to clear my eyes, of all that I had seen, a throat like gasoline, on fire from the pain that drained amphetamine. No tears from her I’d seen, in years I feared Maureen, my mom, had lost her gleam, for life it went unseen.
So surprised in my own home, I condoned my mother’s gloam, three more years I saw her roam, all about without a bone, of decency inside, now eight without a guide, my pride was worn and dried, my innocence denied.
But still I kept the fight, on the wall I marked my height, every inch grown shown in sight, to my mom I’d calmly cite, that I was making it alright, even though she took delight, rinsing whiskey down with sprite. Every night I tucked her in, after rounds of tonic gin, while her world swirled in sin, next day at it again.
I’d lend my life to her, a ten year old chauffeur, expected to mature, at a rate that was obscure. I’m sure to her she thought, that all I brought was snot, and spit and bits of thought, that said I’m fed with squat.
So she bought a whipping stick, and struck me with its thick, and rusty wooden bow, to me she’d surely show, that she’s the one in charge, so broke but living large, up in a trailer home, took all I could condone. Until the day I ran, away without a plan. I ran until I found, crisp whispers all around.
And soon I realized, I was lost and crossed with eyes, which cried with silent fear, and I wished my mom was near. Even with her hurtful hate, she could guide me left or straight, take a right into the night and catch sight of interstate. But my mother wasn’t here, just me out in the clear, relentless desert heat, while darkness kissed my feet. I’d been alone before, ten years if keeping score, but never quite like this, no time to reminisce. I’ve got to make a choice, erupt in screams of voice, which surely will be heard, I’m lost so spread the word. But when I scream I’m hoarse, of course, of course, of course, this can’t be happening, what will the daylight bring?

Written by Tyler Wagner