To the roots of the soil where my ancestors picked from,
to the days of poverty we are known from.
From the day I was born to the day of today,
from the struggles of yesterday to the freedom of today.
God is with me still behind,
seventeen and still alive,
I can’t believe I’m not behind.
More than forty hours every week,
school is red and I am weak.
Mom is sick and still in bed,
Dad is still working and I’m already in bed.
Feel so numb almost so carefree,
my own health doesn’t even bother me.
Sixteen with new keys,
so grateful for the blessings.
Fifteen, fourteen,
I thought this was the end of me.
Urges of distress and two faced loneliness,
friends of the past and year of ungratefulness.
Year of the party,
shiny lights and pretty dress,
family together and bottles undressed.
Twelve and free
so carefree,
Mom is too busy taking care of me.
Ten and nine,
year of the dead.
To the souls up above and the graves to my soles,
you’re missed everyday and the memories never go.
Six, five, four,
Late night stumbles and hospital rush,
broken arm and pretty cast with a rush.
Holiday lights and pumpkin spice,
presents shining and beaming lights.
Tree is high,
the star can shine.
Nintendo DS under tree,
Super Mario bros waiting for me.
Three, two, one
ready or not here I come.
Baby me,
never will I be.
Almost eighteen years of misery,
but who knows when the end will be.
By Ivet Robles
pathwaysmiddlecollege.org 