Poverty and I were well acquainted.
I spent my childhood wearing her worn cloak.
Living in slums on welfare surplus goods;
dodging the drunks everywhere in sight.
Sanity would never choose to be “common.”
Privilege combined with stupidity
and boredom might consider it “tres chic”
knowing that escape so easily obtained.
And yet who should be the object of pity?
The “poor little rich girl” so clearly lost;
or the welfare child who knows her place
facing the ever grasping hands of limits.
A contest entry
- Common People Like Me (or you maybe) by Raining Kisses.
1000 points, ended November 7, 8 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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i empathise with you in your writing here. -been there and done that. It is what makes us stronger in the long run too
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oooo, I like this alot., from the first to the last lines. so much said in this wondefully short poem, and I love that. Many congrats on the silver!
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Thanks very much!
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OMG....THIS IS AWWWWEEEESOMMMME...LOVE IT BIG TIME...THIS WAS ME....THIS MADE ME ME
BRAVO
T
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Neat
"ever grasping hands of limits" that's neat, and a picture. Good stuff poet.
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Wow...
I know it may not necessarily be the point of your poem, but poverty is such an invisible horror..particularly for a child at school, when every difference is amplfied. Poverty can be an excrutiatingly painful experience. Your poem is fabulously written. I am so glad that I have had the honour to read it.
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