Daughter of the Streets

I remember the first day I saw you walking down the street your hair bowing in the breeze your clothes fresh and clean.

I remember that short walk, I wish we had never had it, at the same time I wouldn’t change it for the world.

I remember the next time I saw you. I looked in your eyes and it was clear that you had died. Tried to ask you in for breakfast, you treated me like a stranger, I couldn’t blame you knowing that your mind had been altered. That the substance in you was trying to define you.

Sitting on my back porch and you crossed the street with a man close behind. Disappearing for only for a few minutes and then I saw you walking back. Tears flowing down, Not making a sound but my heart is crying out for you. Knowing this is not really you.

Saw you standing on the corner with your hand protectively over your unborn child. Making small talk desperately wanting you come away, but now knowing what to say. Pleading with your motions for me to go away, yet pleading with your eyes for me to stay.

I want you to know …

I remember the first day I saw you walking down the street, your hair bowing in the breeze your clothes fresh and clean.

I remember that short walk, I wish we had never had it, at the same time I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Whatever happened to your baby? I’ve been too scared to ask. You were so far along, is he safe with a family or is in the living hell with you?

Am I naive to want to help you, and I naive to love you, to notice the bruises on your face? It’s only been 4 years yet you look 10 years older than the first day I met you.

I hate the word “prostitute” I wish I knew what you dreamed of becoming when you were a little girl. Yea, some will call you dirty and worse, but I see you as lost and so does my Savior. Please come Home dear one please come home.