I Sit Alone

I sit alone on the street. I sit alone in my life as I was 1. I don’t have the father that can put forth a ball as the smile doesn’t come on my face, and I don’t catch the ball. It bounces on the grass that’s not greener as the other side. I don’t have the mother that doesn’t stroke my hair when I’m not crying over spilt milk that doesn’t leave liquid on the chair spilling to the floor. I lay alone in the dark waiting for the light to appear, but it won’t. I walk around and hold the hand of someone I don’t know, and they don’t look at me and say, “What are you doing!” The hand is ripped away and I’m pushed down. I sit alone on the street. I’m sad, but I don’t cry the tears that fall from my eyes… The tears don’t wet my shirt. The street is nice as it leads me places that have trees and paths that give me a smile. I don’t look back at the life I didn’t have…