The Streets are filled with noise and crime,
And those responsible are not doing time.
Passerby's frowns are frozen to their faces
Because you are different ,
Or of other races.
Where they throw you in jail for a weed
you've planted
the Judge then states, "Your Probation I've
Granted"
Where Girls of fifteen are already mothers
and sole providers to their sisters and
brothers.
Where drugs is like religion and pushers are
kings
Where the Death of a child is a casual thing.
Where Lawmaker's behavior is expectedly
corrupt
And our parents - in frustration - have all
given up.
The Children are raising Children
Another generation of fools
While the courts blame the parents - the
parents blame the schools
and the Clergy blames rap music as well
as the type of clothes kids choose,
Babies Keep Making Babies and killing for
designer shoes.
We know the world is dying,
This ain't how life is supposed to be.
BUT, HOW CAN I RAISE MY CHILDREN
RIGHT
WHEN MY PARENTS WERE TOO YOUNG
TO RAISE ME?
©Lisa E. Lawrence-Hudson
Fall, 1978 and November 1995
Author's note: I originally wrote this poem in
my 7th grade class at Pine Forest Jr. High
as a class assignment.