Disposable Children



    Eventually, all the faces became a blur as I realized I was disposable; nothing more than a paper cup that once held water. But now that I am empty, I am discarded and traded in for a new cup whenever thirst beckons.

    I changed my colors to fit each new family. But over time, I quit. What was the point? As I aged or a character flaw showed itself I was no longer seen as a person but reverted back to a disposable child. I was just one of a million disposable children, the product of a lost and broken society.

    As an adult I worked in a psychiatric hospital on the children’s unit. What I saw was the reflection of broken adults mirrored in damaged children. Yet, the adults received appropriate care when certain behaviors were exhibited. In accordance with the hospital’s program any little mishap from these children resulted in a consequence. Where was the consequence for the adults? How are these children expected to be perfect robots to fit nice and neat into society’s round hole when they are square pegs due to the environments?

    Let the children scream. Let them cry. Is it not our fault tears fill their hearts? Are we not to blame for their anger? Children are not objects to adorn ourselves with like a fashion statement. They are our future and need to be treated with a reverent air of respect.

    There is a sickness in our culture that dilutes humanity. It breeds contempt in our self serving minds. It is like a cancer spreading to the collective mind we share; the socially acceptable or tolerated behaviors adults possess. Our children are a product of this sickness and are dealt with like they are the cause when in fact it is the weakness that lives in all of us.

    All of us are required to give these children a voice, to be an advocate. It is the responsibility of every adult to make sure these children are heard and seen. Treated with the respect they deserve as individuals. We need to stop seeing them as a burden and passing them onto the next foster home when they don’t fit into our lives perfectly or show flaws of human nature.


Starting at the age of eleven I got crammed into any space they could find to fit my body. I was nothing more than a burden. After the death of my father I started having symptoms of PTSD and was also diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder. My mother gave me up to any hospital or relative that would have me and then ran as far away as she could.

At 14 she moved to arkansas with my siblings. Eventually I went to live with her because I saw my siblings as my responsibility.

At 16 I ended up in foster care, pregnant and alone. My mom gave me up to the courts after she found out I was pregnant.

    I wound up in a foster home that hid their demons behind the guise of christianity. Then later into a group home for pregnant teenagers. I aged out of the system and my son came with me.

    I have started from scratch more times than I care to remember. Built something out of nothing and flourished. I refuse to allow my kids to see the world I was shown growing up. The only world they will see is one of acceptance and love. Because children are not disposable.

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