by Barbara Writes

Created on: June 05, 2009   Last Updated: June 08, 2009

Since I was eighteen
Trying to find a job
I never could convince
Anyone to hire me

Years and years of trips
To the unemployment office
The door of opportunity
Never opened on life's journey

Waiting my turn
Filling out forms
I got depress knowing
My faith was all in vain

Now the economy is bad
The prospects once had
No longer exist
For those more capable

Never got the experience
To make me skilled
From faces unconcerned
And eyes uncaring

At forty-eight
I write poetry
Because there is no options
For this girl living in the cracks

Always upset, suspicious
Never understanding
Why her life never amount
To at least a hill of bean

That lost little girl
Left behind at age three
Lives on her face
At age forty-eight

Down and out she retreats
To the darkness that comforts
A castle where she's safe
From daggers of this life

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