A Life That Didn’t Matter

My baby was sweet and smart

Striving to balance out his boorish brute of a father

He was on his way home from baseball practice

Cornrows heavy with the cold rain,

Body heavy with stress and

Bag loaded overstuffed gear he carried himself

I was putting in overtime trying to get my promotion

And for what

I wanted to be head of marketing and meanwhile

He just wanted to get home

He just wanted to get home when he was shot

For running from the men with guns

But he was thirteen and wasn’t wearing his glasses

How was he to know they were cops

When they stole his life

His anxiety must have been running out of control

That disorder that made him suffer so much

That I couldn’t afford the good medication for anymore

I had him on the one that didn’t work as well

And he was managing because he was so brave

While I was pushing to make sure ends always met

And for what

All for my boy, just thirteen years old

And he had to get shot because I was the only one

Who cared and I wasn’t there

A poem of grief. Thanks for reading.

…BRD…

I write poetry, prose, and personal pieces. All images are mine unless indicated otherwise. Feel free to leave feedback on my work anytime; I hope you enjoy.

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