In Their Own Words
Some poems written by runaway
and homeless children
collected by Benford
E. Standley. Over the first months
of the New Millennium we
will be collecting poems that
are written by kids that
have had real life experiences as
being a runaway youth in
the streets and alleys of these
United States of America
 FIND SOME PROGRAMS THAT TRY
TO STEM THE TIED OF INHUMANITY
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Hey,
This is sarah louise brocksmith, I'm 15 years old.
I have been locked up on and off for about 3 years.
I'm still locked up today 6/15/01. I'm just on a
weekend pass. I'm in "BYS" in Marshall, Missouri.
I had 9 deaths in one year in1998, the person who
died that I was very, very close to was my dad David
Wayne Brocksmith. After, he's death I went crazy.
I started to do drugs,runaway,and getting in trouble
with the law. And now I finally learned my lesson.
I'm getting on with my new life. And when I get out
of this placement. I'm going to be awhole new
Sarah.
P.S If, I can help any teens PLEASE e-mail me at
Thankz,
Sarah Louise Brocksmith
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Hey,
Yes I been in more place ments.
I have Been in Framington's childrens home in
Missouri. and been in mexico's hosptial in Missouri
about 25 times, And been in springfield, Missouri
hosptial 1 time, then prenger's in jefferson, Missouri
1 time, then I went back to "BYS" in Marshall,
Missouri for my second time.
I went to these place ments cause, I ran away from
home and other place ment. Doing drugs,braking in
a band-it house,and getting kicked out of school.
I have been locked up on and off for about 3 and
half years. I have got two DFS workers. One DJO
worker.
And I would be gald to help
Bye-Bye
sara brocksmith |
Dear Sir:
My name is Amy Magon and
I am 16 years
old. I am a runaway and
presently staying
at the Oasis Runaway Shelter.
The poem
I am submitting, entitled
"The Time"
means a great deal to me.
I wrote it for
my family before I
left them. I want to
express to families of runaways
that their
child most likely does not
want to leave
but feels compelled to
go. I feel "The
Time" best expresses my
message.
Thank you for your time
and I look for-
ward to hearing from you.
Sincerely yours,
Amy Magon
THE TIME
The time has come
for me to depart
But please my friend
keep me in your heart.
It is time for me to go
I can not stay
But don't fear my friend
I'll be back someday.
So, I leave with tears
in my eyes
I promised myself
I would not cry.
But my friend
I shall say
I'll be back
another day.
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My name is Amber Cohen, and these are
a few of my poems. I hope
that i haven't sent them too late. I saw
your flyer at a Grateful Dead Show.
Amber
P.S. I'm 19 now and a "successful" runaway.
I ran away at 16, after being institutionalized by
my mother, and the State of Louisiana. (Wrongly,
of course) (As usual)
I had another one of those
nightmares, Mommy.
You know, the ones
where I'm in the Quiet Room,
blinded by the white. I
hear the door click shut be-
hind me and I run to it,
(and I run to you). But
there's no doorknob on my
side, (and you're on
the other side). And later
the other come and I tell
them, My Mommy wouldn't
leave me here, there's
some mistake. They
shake their heads and say
they never thought their
Mommies would leave
them here either. I usually
wake up when They
start putting me in The
Bed (you know the one
with the straps.)
And I always wake up crying and
I know I can't forgive you,
until the nightmare stop
forever...!
He's scowling just like He
was the day the nurse
told him I wet the bed.
But I realize trying, trying
to defend myself to Them
was useless. Useless,
because I am crazy and They
are not. But, I know
(and that's what counts),
that I wasn't being child-
ish or coercive or manipulative
or hateful, ungrateful,
or crass. I know that
I called for Nurse to bring
me the pan. She didn't
come.
Helplessly,
They're rising, falling.
Desperately,
The voices calling,
Voices crying.
Silent screaming fades away.
(Where white doors lock and white walls blind,
They bound my soul and bleached my mind).
d |
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The kids today, in a crazy way,
do things that make men sway,
They steal,
They stab,
And make people mad,
By taking things
and breaking glass.
David
Woodward, 13 |
It's a game
Stupid
A non-chalant escape
of life
I am
Skeptical
I just
Don't
Want to play.
Pam Harman, 14 from Spring, TX |
d
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A man got caught in the web
the men got away from the web
the woman got in the web with her man
the little boy and girl got caught in the web
the baby got tangled in the web
the end.
Stacie Allison, 13 |
Maybe I took it all for granted. 4 walls,
my walls, and a window to the other world.
And widely scattered affections are better
than the drought.
But the psychobooboos of White Nightmares
drain sickly, slowly at my blind and
bleeding fingertips.
And I ran and I ran and here I am.
(impoverished and unsure) but free,
(not where I thought I'd be) but lucky.
And They won't catch me, this time
Mary Hulsebosh 16 year old runaway |
WHAT ARE PARENTS?
PEOPLE WHO SAY NO.
PEOPLE WHO TELL YOU
WHERE YOU CAN AND CANNOT GO.
ARE THEY WHAT THEY'RE CRACKED UP TO BE?
WHY DOES IT SEEM THEY'RE
NEVER NICE TO ME?
THEY TREAT ME LIKE A CHILD.
I THINK I'M MATURE,
BUT THEY THINK I'M WILD.
DO THEY LOVE ME?
I WISH I KNEW
BECAUSE ID DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.
also by Mary Hulsebosh |
If you are a runaway,
homeless, or missing
we would love to have
your poem for our
special page. Email
us...thanks
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The Stars summon
my feelings bright
forever wonder
feelings unexpressed
may I touch
and understand
I've reached out
but couldn't grasp
help me find
a single handhold
on a ladder
into myself
and all else
one continuous
step towards
the understanding
I seek.
Brian Smith, 14 yr
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ran and i ran and
here i am.
(impoverished
and unsure)
but free. (not where
i thought i'd be)
but lucky
and they won't
catch me
this time.
?
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I wish I were a bird
so I could fly
into the sky
and see
How it is to be
in a silent world
of the free
David Puckett, 12

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SOME RAN EAST...SOME RAN WEST
CHAPTERS
by
Benford
E. Standley
"TRUTH IS LIKE A TORCH...
FROM IT WE SHIELD OUR EYES
FOR FEAR OF BEING BURNED"
in the sand
Infanticide 333
In
Their Own Words
Poems
and words from the streets
Sins of the Fathers
The
Throwaway Child
Dear
God
What
happened
in Houston?
Down and out
in L.A.
an
ongoing saga of the homeless
Foster Lack of Care
IF YOU ARE A RUNAWAY, OR HAVE EXPERIENCED
BEING A RUNAWAY IN THE STREETS OF AMERICA,
WE WOULD HOPE THAT YOU PLEASE SEND TO US
VIA EMAIL. IF POSSIBLE GIVE US A PLACE
WHERE
WE CAN FIND YOU IN THE FUTURE.
© 1998-06 Benford E. Standley
All
Rights Reserved.
We were the children,
Benford E. Standley

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