Cell phones taking time from raising kids
By Mary Murphy
My heart aches for the child, who cried out and nobody hears.
Hurt begins to take control of the soul. Feel my hurt, “want you.” Cell phones begin to be
my friend, like you, I feel powerful, because the phone brings my comfort.
It kisses me good night, wakes me up in the morning light. Where is the love? You carry
me for nine lonely months with not a care in this busy world. All I heard was the phone
on your car, and the life on the outside. Do you feel my hurt?
Politics cannot be blamed for the forgotten child. This starts in the home. If you are too
busy to listen, the enemy of your home is you. They follow what they see. Guns have
become my happy place. The child in me cannot see the hurt it brings.
I listen to the conversations of adults around me, singing praises of hate and
destruction, because no one cares about me. I communicate my thoughts, you are too
busy to listen, your phone comes first.
When I’m unhappy I attend school to find my place, but a classmate calls me a name. I
react with the glass full, ready to explased, you are the enemy I reach for because you
are always ready in my defense.
Guns are not the enemy people are. God bless the child, who has his own.