Lydia’s Cry

What life brings you is unexpected sometimes I guess one could say. My name is Lydia Adams and I was born into hell right outside of the flames. My parents were the devils and I was the infant who screwed their deal to rule the throne in the streets. They both were young and I liked to call not ripened yet. I suppose they never gave much thought to me either way it was. I am from Heavens Way which is a small town outside of Georgia. It is a peaceful town if they wasn't junk on every corner and it would be just lovely if the cops didn't feel the need to fatten there wallets, they often just close their eyes to society. Mama was a teen junkie with a mental disorder, talk bout increasing the high. I can't say for certain what good the drugs done for her, but between the junk and your elevator not going all up is a deadly cocktail and one she was pleased to embleshish. Daddy was the drunken dealer that landed mama this gig in life when she was just 14 years old. He was a charming man in the moment. I swear he could have dope hanging from his lips and he would convince anyone just wasn't his. Boy he was a good liar or just a good make believer. Mama couldn't see daddy's ways, she was far to busy mixing that cocktail, and once she didn't cut it for ole dad anymore, he was coming to the next best thing to her. Mama had lived their in the little town since the day she popped out in this world. Her name was Cynthia Lucille, from those faded pictures in that old shoebox, she was just adoralbe, guess everybody has their moments. When she was 4, she developed these uncontrollable fits. A doctor declared she was mentally unable to be a normal standard. By the time she was 12 she was slicing her self like she was a hot ham, if something piss her off she‘d cut. My daddy come along with the right medicine for her, now she'd be lucky now to make it the kitchen to find a blade. My daddy, Buford Lee Adams hasn’t always lived here, he many times told mama just how much better he was because he came from the city. Don't know much bout him really, I think I was too afraid to ask him exactly what had happened in his life that had turned him so far away. I wish I could fully understand the meaning of giving me such a chaotic life. So, one Sunday I turned on the tube to find this fine gentleman stood behind a some priviliged desk with his fancy neck tie and said "God is not the enemy my friends, thou he will not put no more on the mind, body, and soul, that you my friend can not bare." I had thought about that statement for what it seemed like a lifetime, I came to apoint where this thought sound believeable, until my concentration was broke with that druken breath. "Lydia, it's time to come be daddy's girl, mamas on a spell again". Then I knew God had put a little too much for a little girl like me, but as I'm led to that bed I knew then that fancy tie sweet talking man was a liar too. And I could except there was a God if while I lay in this bed, he would take me to that place where I forget all these sin things and who this predator was, and that maybe mama will hear my cries. I bare my soul and claim this to be My Story.