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Foster Bears By Justin Long-Moton and Sean Baucom

Toy stores are a lot like foster homes
Innocence plastered across the walls

The aisles, isolated hallways
Perfect place to find a packaged hug
The laughter of children juggled by artificial hands
Falling from each side of the box
Robots and toy chests
Happiness locked behind
The hope of a child unwrapped inside of a family
 
When you walk into this store
Into this house
Everyone is in a jolly mood
The magnitude of amazement is that of a grand scale
Anxious because today maybe the day someone takes you home
The heart of a happy costumer looking for that perfect "gift"      
Perfect child, with meaningless palms, eager to be called parents
 
Floor paved by the outstretched silhouettes of our childhoods
The ripped bed sheets, blankets that don't smell like family
I know what it means to borrow a home
This shelf, never cradled our bodies like mommas running womb
We made ourselves visual for the reach
But when arms lack affection
Everything cute about us slips through the cuddle
Like hula hooping through barbed wire
I  have  had the home torn from my flesh
Evicted the FAO Schwartz from my skin
 
A lazy assembly line kissing decomposition onto our foreheads
Lying every question I asked
"Are you coming back for me?"
Our skins been waiting, pelt shedding a decade of false hopes
Mother I thought I heard your footprints crawling to my bedside
But it was just the cash register....

I remember the day everything all changed
The time I spent alone holding my sides
There was no hiding in a house with a thousand boxes
Compacting all the same story
My mother lost, swallowed by drugs
And a grandmother who couldn't play substitute

Knee to chest, attempting to rock myself into hibernation
You have never heard the mourning cry of a grizzle bear?
I was shivering in the back seat of a police van
That creaks more like a starving Tonka truck
I was 4 years young
But a sunrise old enough to know
I'd never see the other side of my front door again

Open me up, unravel me beautiful
Beneath the rubble of a bedroom
That feels like a caged cart
My side has been scolding for some time now
Too many nights I cried my buttons out
The linen of a lonesome home untangling
From the tender of my torso
 
I thought the knitting of a guardians touch was suppose to hold me together
My breath left dangling out of my mouth like a loose limb
We tried to stitch our self's back together

 I can't caress my own flesh wounds
The bones of our ribcage will always braid questions like
"Why didn't you want me?"
(Why didn't you want me?)
 Where was your heart when you left me?
(Where was your heart when you left me?)             
How many nights did you cry yourself to sleep?
(How many nights did you cry yourself to sleep?)
Did you ever on come back?
(Did you ever come back?)

Will I ever be good enough?

Team New York City