Hardened. That’s what happened. We were hardened. Not physicly, but emotionly. No I aint sayin that every kid who grows up in the Bronx ends up rough, but me and my sis…did.

What I remember is black Christmas. We call it that cuz we found out the truth bout Santa. We woke to see what he’d brought, and found nuthin. Mom blamed it on pops, he’d just lost his job. The next week she left. We managed, til the day when me and Sara came home to nobody. We thought maybe pops had gone out for the night, so we slept on the door step. But it became clear he’d ditched us.

Don’t remember how we survived. They had left us in the jungle of NYC. Years passed. One day we met a woman. We were in Central Park workin for tips. My sis had been born with a voice that could make angels cry. The woman stopped and asked if we’d wana go with her. My sis became a child slave, forced to work all day. And me, well, now I spread my story to other abused children. You aren’t alone. You do have a voice.

Once upon a time in New York