Vegetarian Vampire

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    Vegetarian Vampire

    I was just a homeless girl, living on the street.
    I was digging through the dumpsters, trying to find something good to eat.
    It was December 1995 in Chicago's windy city.
    My father was abusive, my life it wasn't pretty.

    My mother was a waitress, my father was a cop.
    My dad would beat my mother, I begged for him to stop.
    He would yell obscenities then grab me by the hair.
    That's when I ran away from home, I knew he didn't care.

    It's hard to be an only child, abuse I've seen my share.
    I'm huddled inside, of this cardboard box, in my own private nightmare.
    I've always loved my vegetables, couldn't stand the taste of meat.
    I knew that something had to die, just so I could eat.

    Life was pretty tough for a young girl turned sixteen.
    When I became a Vampire, I thought it was just a dream.
    I was walking toward the alley, to the place that I called home.
    He was standing in the shadows, I was scared and all alone.

    I never had a chance to run, he caught me from behind.
    He sank his teeth into my neck; he said forever you'll be mine.
    I screamed but no one heard me, that's when I begin to realize.
    This has to be a frickin dream, I'll just open up my eyes.

    I opened up my sleep filled eyes; he was sitting by my side.
    I'm pretty sure that I peed my pants, I was petrified.
    I have to think of something, this forever it can wait.
    My mom shook me gently, it's time for school and you'll be late.

    I thought that I was going to freak, mom there was a Vampire in my bed.
    It's just your imagination, she slowly shook her head.
    You couldn't be a Vampire; meat is something that you hate.
    Instead of blood and guts and peanut butter, why not have a glass of V-8

    Written February 24, 2009__________by Wildecat,

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    hdmac commented on Vegetarian Vampire

    08-15-2009

    Interesting poetry. The vampire thing I don't get though.

    Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    wildecat’s Poems (5)

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