Poverty flows
Like the waves of hurt
That break over her,
Leaving relentless memories of the past.
She suffers,
Living each day in ways unfathomable to most.
Junk like gold,
Non existent luxuries,
The sparkle of a new copper penny that
Tends to a weeping heart.
She scrounges to pick up the pieces of
More than just scattered crumbs and
Tired devotion.
Desperately needing love,
The bonding of one whose soul lives like her own,
She searches for friendship-
A companion through the struggle.
Yet none are fervent to comply.
A father who submits himself to evil elements
Offers no wealth but the affection she lives on.
He is the savior in an
Unforgiving world.
She tries so hard:
Effort based on the goal of survival,
Thoughts surrounding the explanations of society.
They look down upon a
Shelter of dirt accompanying the
Fragile shell of her body and see
Filth,
Filth,
Filth.
Their words leave scarred wounds,
Left open to bleed a slow death.
"It would be a better world
If they were all
Sterilized
And could no longer breed."
The suggestion is poignant,
As of a bee's sharp stinger penetrating
The tender flesh of her skin,
Allowing no mercy in a merciless world.
Her life is pronounced ugly,
The product of laziness and illegitimate excuses.
"Poverty is neither truth nor beauty,"
So it is spoken.
Why is it believed to be so?
Her labor is a struggle everyday,
A desperate cry to taste food at the next meal.
Floors are scrubbed,
Time is precious,
Laziness is not a consideration able to be imagined.
And yet
They stay blindfolded,
Consider themselves
Superior.
A humanity of wealth too high
For the lowness she lives in,
Too select
For her sweat to enter their vicinity.
What reasons support this action?
She works as hard as the rest,
Her intelligence goes beyond that of the rich.
Ignorance lies in those who choose to ignore
The truth is reality,
Circumstances must be survived.
Tears
Kept inside,
Waiting patiently for the time when
Release will be private.
Her savior is gone,
Lost to an unforgiving kingdom
Yet to be found worthy.
Who is He to treat her this way-
Take him away,
The only hand she could hold,
The only soul who
Listened
To her confessions.
Why doesn't He answer her prayers,
Mend the broken pieces
In search of glue.
How can He be,
If he is not.
Confusion remains.
Struggling,
Gasping,
Shivering from the chills,
She rises to the challenges of this
Questionable world,
Seemingly pointless life.
Success will accompany in the future,
She will be the first of her kind.
Failure will release,
For she must show them
Who is better in the end,
Who will make it through the trenches
When there is no one there to give a boost.
Poverty flows,
But intelligence thrives.
Molded by a rigid past,
Her surface is strong and ready to face
The clay of the future.
Continuing to grow,
She replenishes
The branches of her
Brooklyn tree.