This page is dedicated to all of the souls that passed through MacLaren Hall, a child "protection" institution in Los Angeles County that was open from the 1950's to 2003.
Below us a poem written by a Mac Hall survivor and you can read another Mac Hall survivor's story at Roxanne.
The following is a poem written by a MacLaren Hall survivor:
Trials of Life
by Christopher W.
Here I am at 9 years old
I have lost my family and my home.
Alone and raging at the slightest whim,
Losing all hope I've held within.
No more childish dreams to call my own
I have lost my dreams and now I roam.
From family to family they shift me around,
not a single caring one can be found.
Here I am at 10 years old.
Still without my family and my home
I wonder why no one wants me. What have I done?
So in a boy's home is now where I run.
I do not run for the fun of the game,
I run from the older boy's rage, that he cannot contain.
He tries to sneak into my room, to beat me at night.
I kick the door closed to avoid the fight.
The boy's head caught in the door.
He sits there screaming on the floor.
Can't they understand I just want to be left alone?
I don't want to hurt them, I just want my home.
The counselors come running and of course I am blamed.
For this 15 year old boy, who's rage cannot be contained.
Here I am at 12 years old,
Mc Larin Hall is now my home.
I think this time I was truly blessed,
my hardened heart has passed the test.
No one here dares mess with me,
No longer afraid, now I see.
No more nightly visits of the past.
To earn their respect I will kick their ass
I am the toughest kid in this place,
No one wants to challenge me to take my place.
Here I am, now 14.
I remember all that's been done and all I've seen.
I've met a girl she's 16.
She softens my heart and makes it clean.
Nothing in life would I not give.
Just to remain near her for as long as I live.
A few months have past and our love has grown.
But now she has the chance to make it home.
I don't blame her for the choice she made.
But my feelings for her will still not fade.
Finally I am told I can go home,
I arrive there and still feel alone.
So out my window and on top of the house,
I write her poetry quiet as a mouse.
A broken heart and a shattered life,
my heart hardened by the strife.
No longer sure what I should do.
Every poem I write says I still love you.
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