Provider.

Was I born for this?

The cold cuts through my soul,
Not in the flesh but through to the bone.
The damru beats strike as odd,
In an oddity of sorts;
It’s like a remixed version of my heart-beats.
The jargon unknown, whistles and calls forlorn,
They want more…
My shivers go unnoticed,
I am but a little girl,
Flesh surrenders to goose bumps,
But I know they want more,
on both sides of my world.
Babies lie hungry, toddlers want toys,
Mother searches for leftovers from last night.
Last night was a night of leftovers too-
I doubt she’d find anything for now.
Father strikes another melody,
Gritting his teeth in a grin,
He hates that I walk the line, in more ways than one,
I provide; All day, every day.
But beggars can’t be choosers, is what they say.
Thinking of what the future might bring,
An encore of goose bumps hit my flesh,
I close my eyes against the sunlight,
My eyes water from the strain.
Then I look at him, reaching out to me.
He’s watching out for me, his eyes can’t betray.
There’s love and patience in that frown,
And I know I can’t fall down…
Yes, I was born for this. But it won’t be long now…