I know that stealing is wrong but I don’t regret what I did.
I only stole food and I only did it to be able to feed my kids.
After my wife died, I had a breakdown and my job was something I lost.
I would’ve gladly paid for the food but I couldn’t afford what it cost.
I turned to other people for help but they refused to lend a helping hand.
People don’t help others like they used to, it was too much for me to stand.
My kids went to a foster home when I went to jail.
Now I’m fighting to get them back and I won’t fail.
I have a new job and I’ll get them back but I don’t know when.
But mark my words, my children and I will be a family again.
This is a fictional poem.