Chapter 4. The Gift.
The Gift
“I was the only child to a single mum
My father disappeared, he went on the run
He got involved in dealing drugs
He owed lots of money to some seedy thugs
My mother was an ex-convict
My mother was also a drug addict
I remember my childhood like it was yesterday
My mum’s teeth were rotten, they were black and grey
She always had a syringe stuck in her arm
Track marks and scars from self-harm
She often left me on my own, took ages to return
About her young daughter, she showed little concern
Her nose was always red and runny
She ate very little, lost weight of her tummy
Her pupils always looked like piss holes in the snow
She always looked depressed, always looked low
She was always sick and sweating
To take good care of me, she was always forgetting
Towards me she had a shitty attitude
Always screaming at me, always in a mood
She took me shopping, from each shop we would drift
Whilst I watched from my buggy, watching my mum shop lift
Stealing clothes, perfume and jewellery
Not stealing food, so that she could feed me
She was always thinking about herself
Never me or my health
I often cried with hunger pain
All my mum was concerned about though, was cocaine
My mum practised voodoo, believed in the occult
When spells went wrong, it was always my fault
She had spells for this, and spells for that
She even bought herself a big black cat
In her bedroom, she had an altar covered in candles and flowers
She believed that the candles held magical powers
She would light the candles and go into a trance
Sway backwards and forwards like she was doing a slow dance
Her alter was covered in old grey bones
Covered in twigs and funny looking stones
She believed in vengeance instead of turning the other cheek
Said kindness and forgiveness, were only for the meek
She said God only existed in a fool’s mind
You get no thanks in this world for being good and kind
I remember on my eighth birthday
Social services took me away
They took me away and my mum didn’t care
They put me in a children’s home in the middle of no-where
But before I left… my mum went in her pocket
And around my neck she put a locket
The locket wasn’t made from silver or gold
It was made of bone and looked very old
It hung from a rope, the rope was grey
Around the edges, it had started to fray
It wasn’t sparkly, it wasn’t bling
Meant for a pauper and not for a king
But it had been the only gift that she had given me
I think it was her way of an apology?
My mum said that I must keep it
Or I will have bad luck bit by bit
She said the locket was real and not imitation
Whoever wronged me would be condemned to damnation
She said I must never let it out of my sight
Not in the day and not in the night
She said the locket had been made by a witch
But the rope from which it hung made my neck itch
So I took the funny looking locket
Off my neck and put it in my pocket
Posted on July 10, 2011, in Chapters From The Jaw and tagged adult, amazon, debate, epic poetry, facebook, hot, kashaw, kindle, king alfred, longest poem in the world, Mahabharat, photo, poem, poetry, pose, publisher, review, Revisited, rhyme, rhyming couplet, sexy, The Jaw, twitter. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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