Seven years old, two months felt like years
A trunk by my bunk and a pillow of tears
They laughed when I stumbled, didn’t know what to do
But I kept counting the days till I’d see you
I packed up my things, I was ready to leave
A blue and white Buick was all I believed
Mom ran to hold me, I broke in her arms
But his voice cut through love with a father’s alarm
“If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you the sound
Of something to cry about, don’t make a scene now”
But I clung to her skirt, I clung to her side
Till the door slammed shut and the car rolled by
Locked out of her arms, left in the dust
Something to cry about — no one to trust
They didn’t see paintings, the counselors’ praise
He dragged her away, and I stayed in that place
My mom’s hand outstretched, my voice lost in screams
And the child that I was got lost in between
“If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you the sound
Of something to cry about, don’t make a scene now”
But I clung to her skirt, I clung…
