Foster care
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Poem:		42649
I walk into a house, thinking that it was my own. When I walked in, I knew that it was not my home. It just does not feel right. I may be blind on the inside, but I can see. The house smelled like flowers, compared to my home, which smells like smoke. The walls have wallpaper, compared to the paint on my walls. There are no stairs. Then I pause, because I hear a noise, then I wake up, because I am in another foster home! It's really not fair, but I love my foster mom, because I know that she cares. I go to my room, and there is wood, to build a closet. When I run my hand, across the wood, it feels bumpy, as my dog fluffy. I have to be careful, because I could get a splinter, and those sting, just like a bee. The wood is broken, I can feel it's pain. The wood is wet, it shed some tears, during the heavy rains. Funny, because I did too! This town is so clear, but it is so dull, and boring. The roads are narrow. The sun is bright. It's a small town, and I go to Sandwich High. As I look out my window, I can see all the trees, there are three, in my yard. It's hard to be a teenager, in another foster home. I go to my bed, and lay down my head. My heart is depressed. My brain is confused. Who do I trust? Who do I talk too? What do I say? I don't want to stay, but that's ok. Now it's bedtime. Goodnight!
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