Not Like Me (4 Points of View)

Rehab

They're not like me
They have lost it all
Jobs, homes, their family
Still they sit in circles
And gang up on me
Get in my face to make me see
They are just like me

But I'm not like them
I still have my kids,
at my mother's house
A home to go home to
if she's still paying my mortgage
A life, a family, a job,
if they will still have me

I don't even get drunk,
Well, I don't drive when I'm drunk
At least not with the kids in the car
And still, I look at these sorry souls
And refuse to be one of them
Because anyone can clearly see
They are not like me.


*************************************************************

The Group Home on Cherry Street

I watch them carefully
They are not like me
But here we are, together
We share one sad story
Orphaned, discarded, abused
Different reasons for the same sad fact
We all have no where else to lay our heads,
No family. That's where the similarity ends.

Listen to my story and you will see
These people are not at all like me
We are all here together, but these girls are train wrecks
They are hyper, depressed, traumatically stressed
One girl was raped, another a delinquent
A runaway I think.  We have a basketcase, a drama queen
An ex-junkie. At thirteen? 
One girl's mom is in rehab, and not for the first time.

And me, what's my crime? No family.
My mother didn't plan for her early demise.
And didn't bother to inform the sperm donor
That she gave birth to his daughter,
His identity, and with it, his family
Remains a mystery she took to her grave
So, you see what I mean when I say
These people are not like me

But despite that fact,
They look no different, on the outside
No one cares to see that I'm unique
Then again, maybe we are alike
Because, to everyone we meet,
We will always be nothing
But those poor kids
From the group home On Cherry Street

***********************************************************

Bars and Lost Babies

I sit in a crowded cell
With six women
I've never met before
We talk about our kids,
Abusive men, All we've lost
We compare our social workers
And which guards will let us call home

Alone, we sort each woman, we judge, condemn, 
Junkies, theives, abusers, drunks, we're never like them
Together, we fret about denied visits, court dates
We sit powerless watching life pass us by
And distract ourselves with puzzle books
Worn out paperbacks, showing off  pictures
Of our kids growing up without us.

Back when I was young
A year ago
I judged my mother
For having three children
With three different men
None of whom stuck around
And I vowed I would never be like her

Now I have four kids with different daddies
Just like my siblings and me
I watch powerless as the cycle starts again
Tears in my eyes, pictures in hand
On the eve of the court hearing
That will end my rights of maternity.
A wisdom finally settles inside me

I realize I am my worst enemy,
My own judge and jury, my own iron bars
Punishing me always for the mistakes I've made,
For not trying hard enough for my babies
I've learned so much lately, I can finally see
My mom, these women, those junkies

They are exactly like me


****************************************************8

Perspective


They are just like me
They are mothers, wives, children
Some are even dreamers like me
And I try to feel what they feel
Imagine missing my kids, Losing my home,
Being hit by someone I love

I've missed my kids, for a week or so
I've moved a few times, Lost a few loved ones,
Wished a few would get sober
Made a few choices and lived to regret them
Struggled with bills, disappointed someone I love
Like them, I'm not without flaws

I've learned to respect them for being human
Support them, trust them, fear for them
Yearned to believe they could change
Only to watch them quit trying, fail, eat their words
That they were not like the others, would not lose their kids
When we took them away, I also felt betrayed, mislead

Why keep fighting for them, when they stop fighting for themselves?
I questioned while driving in my car... that still runs
Felt sorry for them as I pick up the kids... I still have,
I dreamt of them sometimes, in my warm bed,
Next to the husband...Who has never beat me,
In our own home ... which we can still afford.

Back when I was young, and naive
At least a week ago,
A wisdom came over me as well
As much as I want to feel their pain, empathize, understand,
To search for something in common, something we share
Next to what they have endured, my worries do not compare.

I am not like them, you see
But I struggle to bridge
The widening gap between them and me
So I can still look them in the eyes
And say, I have not been there
But I will be here, and I will try

To listen without judgment or condemnation
Without fear or conceit
To search inside for a common thread
For there are only so many emotions
We have all experienced them, or will
At one time or another

I've found my answer at last:
Human emotion is the open door
Through which we all can pass
We are only human, no less, no more
And to help them preserve their dignity.....
Is still worth fighting for