For three years, I’ve lived in a building with bars,

lived with infants and toddlers.

For three years, I’ve slept on a wooden bed, 

a thin sheet to keep me warm,

a choice to use it as a blanket or a mattress.

For three years, I’ve lived with crying children,

and caretakers trying to quiet them,

and for three years, I lived without a parent.

The first year was the hardest,

not knowing what’s going on.

Begging for my parents to come back,

not used to being in a strange place.

Scared of what’s going to happen.

The second year was easier.

 Dad taking care of the building and children,

A sweet woman with shoulder length chestnut hair enveloping me into her arms,

Letting me play with her hands.

I remember, she made me happy and safe,

So she became Mom, and my only friend.

The third year was not as great.

Mom and Dad were gone

leaving me alone once again.

It’s the year where if I spilt, I would be hit,

face shoved into the table. 

If I cried, she would would bring down the wooden toy on me.

It was the year that I learned that there were cruel people in this world.

And I couldn’t wait to get adopted. 

And so I say

“-Thank you, Mama and Papa.-”