WORDS FROM WARDS OF THE COURT
by Shannon Wiseman
I work at a group home with young offenders who are currently wards of the
court for criminal offenses or because their families are unable to care
for them.
Why does our society want to give children to a government to raise? Who
will teach them values? Who will talk with them about their dreams and their
potential? Who will assist them in their struggles to become people that
our society will accept and respect? I ask these questions, but unfortunately
I also have to answer them. Our society has no real solution for these children.
Instead, these kids are dropped off at this or that facility so that someone
else can care for them.
And what are the requirements for those care-givers? According to California
Care Licensing Regulations, they must meet the following requirements:
·be 21 years or older
·be fingerprinted
·pass a background check
·have a clean DMV record
·pass a physical
·get a TB test
·sign a statement that they will report sus- pected child abuse
·possess standard first aid certification
That is all! Nowhere is a Residential Child Care worker legally required
to teach these kids about love, family, respect, courage, safeguarding the
environment, developing a philosophy to live by, or understanding current
events. I could be a lying, cheating, racist, back-stabbing sociopath. As
far as the State of California is concerned, my job requirements are only
to make sure they eat, sleep, shower, and remain safe. Is this tragic or
what?
Still, these kids have one possession that cannot be subjected to a cavity
search or a room inspection. Their only defence against a society that has
dumped them off for state-run day-care is their imagination.
Here are some outstanding examples of the pain, suffering and triumph of
their young spirits.
-Shannon Wiseman
Michael H., age 16
RUNNING AWAY
Bought some acid
So I can take a flight
Drop a tab with speed
And I can trip all night
Smoke a sack of pot
Open up the liquor
cabinet
And I see what I got
Drink the night away
But tomorrow
I will have to pay
Snort a line of speed
Wipe my nose
Because it starts to bleed
Take some pills
Glancing out my
windows
At the rolling hills
Pulling out a gun
Thinking about life
It is not fun
Putting it to my head
Where my mind has bled
Pulling the trigger
The sound could have
been no bigger
Laying on the floor
Blacking out
Hearing the pounding
on the door
Group Home
Living in the group home
Letting my thoughts roam
Feeling my mind bleed
Watching a 17 year old
Crave for speed
Kicking it with five peers
Looking out the window
Staring at the deer
Sneaking out of sight
Just to smoke at night
Earning every point
So I can go home
And roll that joint
Trying to do it right
Restraining from a fight
Acting like a clown
Feeling really down
Shooting some hoops
Attending all the groups
When I think about the day
I was taken away
My emotions cry
Trying to keep it
together
Hoping I will feel
better
When I feel sad
Or really bad
I start to cry
Then I want to die
And leave the world
But not say goodbye.
Juvenile Hall
Sitting in Juvenile Hall
Not having a ball
O no, not at all
Eating three meals
a day
Swallowing six pills
a day
Drinking a lot of milk
and water
Wishing for coke
Which I know is a joke
Sleeping on thin cotton
Good times and my family not forgotten
Laying awake at night
Remembering the
terrible sight
Working, cleaning
when it's dirty
For a bedtime of
nine-thirty
Crying at night
Watching a fight
Sitting in Juvenile Hall
Not having a ball
O no, not at all
Lynn B., age 14
A STORY
I see when never shown
I hear words never verbalized.
I feel deeper than your skin
I taste hatred with the taste of loneliness
I touch the ever forgotten
I wish what has never been longed for
I kiss the weak-minded
I hurt when shame is fully meant
I love deeper than the heart
I feed the softly painted
I walk when playfully chased after
I draw pictures in the halls of memories
I leave when wanted.
MY SECRETS
No one can find my secrets which I carefully hide
My weakness and my fears no longer hold me back
The trees have left me unshaded
And the thorn's poison cannot penetrate my shield.
My skin prickles with the wind's movement.
I am far more advanced than anyone will know.
And I am filling with hatred born from my own daughter who has never been
born
Enough of the memories of my lives once lived
I now strive to end my suffering
From those who lie with forked tongues and
Eyes filled with their own guilt
Now I am one-third the complete killing machine
And no guilt or solitude can escape me.
For my cunning and wit will astound anyone
petty enough to cross my path.
Justin L. Age., 17
Distractions
Distractions
grasping
grasping for distractions
reaching for distractions
nothing to grab
but cigarettes, food, and sex
smoke the anger
eat the sadness
and fuck the feelings.
Joe O., age 14
Dimensions of Depression
I sit in the darkness
with the souls of above.
This is my domain, my era of hatred.
I have risen to fall.
I am who I am.
If you listen to the thunder,
my spells have already been cast
Fear not, for my wrath will fall
and another will take my place.
I arose like the sun and will fall
in my final resting place.
My grave.
I lie asleep and dream of happiness and peace
But soon I will wake
to a world of coldness and hatred.
Awake to a world hidden by a mask
and absent from true happiness and peace.
I awake to a black sun
I retire to a blood red moon
I live in constant darkness,
trying to consume the happiness
that torments my armor of hate.
I long and hope, not sure if
what I want is what I desire
I wonder on my life and wonder
if it is worth living.
I spend eternity in
the Dimension of Depression.
Lil S., Ex-ward of the Court
DOPES
Being on the other side at last.
Not wanting it . . . well, almost.
Feeling safe from its grasp.
Seeing it's not gnawing at every part
Of my mind
Until all I can think of is
Needing to have it
No matter what.
To turn and go home,
To make love without it.
To wake in the morning
And love the dawn
Even though it's raining.
Spring 1998-- N.C.Xpress
-- Archives -- Electrons
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