I never knew who my father was it didn’t really bother me as my mind was taken over by wondering what my mother was like as I didn’t know her either. I wrote this poem when I was 13 years old my mother had sent me these beautiful white shoes. I loved them so much and didn’t really want to grow out of them. I wore them even though they had become far too small tight which resulted in huge blisters on my feet.
My shoes are far too tight,
I have huge blisters on my feet,
Great big painful blisters ,
The blisters weep,
I also weep.
I don’t have brothers or sisters,
I don’t have a mother or father,
I have shoes that are far to tight,
And great big weeping blisters.
They tell me that the man up the road is my father,
But I don’t want him to be my father
He has 10 children and a wife,
I don’t want him in my life.
I just want a nice dad, a kind dad, not a bad dad with ten children and a wife.
I would rather not have a father at all.
I know right from wrong even though I’m small.
I don’t want father who was a cheater a fornicator or a baby maker.
These blisters hurt,
Not having parents hurt so much,
No loving parents, no loving touch.
I so hate tight shoes, blisters and men who fornicate.
Dorothy Maude 14 ½