I never sang during the shuffle of grandfathers decks. My tongues became numb and my lips danced with the praises of elders younger than me. We were only children living in a foster home built with plastic walls. They begged for our escapes. Knowing that our legs couldn’t make it past the lips of lucky leaping tigers. Our bodies meant nothing to the pianos playing in the dining halls of lust. Guardians prayed to an idol erected upon their stomachs while fathers and mother gave us to them for loafs of bread and a promise written by the illiterates.