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