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Kilam Black Jul 2019
Eyes growing heavy
body shutting down
work still piling
on these files I might drown

Not yet time to sleep
not yet time to go
so these dreary eyes
I cannot let show

work incomplete
deadline not met
task not achieved
can't sleep yet.

Blur takes over
sleep approaches fast
fifteen more minutes
but I know I won't last

Reality fades
as the dream creeps in
I fought hard
to not let the sleep win

strength completely drained
begging the sleep, please
have some mercy
but all I remember was zzzzz's
my literal situation right now... writing this poem was the only way I stayed awake.
Kilam Black Jul 2019
Beauty is only skin-deep,
but is that true?
whosoever said that,
must have never met you.

Your eyes provide passion,
passion that is unmatched.
it is somewhat irresistible
and now, I'm attached.

your smile,
oh that smile I love.
beautifully unexplainable,
like a gift from above

The sound of your laugh,
a symphony ever so sweet.
your laugh tells a story
of your triumphs and defeats

your body radiates perfection,
it is pure beauty covered by a scar
those imperfect perfections
that make you who you are

you are the definition of beauty
not the kind that's skin-deep
but true, raw, untarnished beauty
and that beauty makes the world weep.
beauty is often a common term thrown around by anyone at the slightest of things. sad to say the word has lost it's true meaning. it now has a negative connotation that implies perfection... but beauty isn't perfect... because perfect isn't true
Kilam Black Jul 2019
Another day I awake because of the loud roar of my stomach, but once again no food in sight
Oh what I would give just to have breakfast, not even a whole plate, maybe just a little bite.

Once again the absence of funds has kept me from attending school, fourth time this week.
It makes no sense I bother to speak up about it. It will sound like I'm complaining when a little assistance is all I am seeking.

I have honestly forgotten the aroma given off by a freshly cook meal or even a cup of mint tea.
Day in, day out I fight this tiresome battle against poverty, anywhere except this life is where I want to be.

This "monster" has deprived me of the right to a good education and maybe soon, the right to life as well.
Sometimes it's as if dying would be an escape from all this: constant struggle, losing battle... This hell.

Hunger is just one for the soldiers of the poverty army that I have met.
I've also met: poor sanitation, poor living conditions, little to no necessities and I'm pretty sure I'll soon meet the general. DEATH

My eyes fill with tears when I cogitate about all I go through every single day.
At nights I lie awake fighting years and ask God why my life had to be this way.

Why me? Why did I have to grow up in a household where the norm is six people sleeping on one bed?
No space to stretch or space to turn without bumping your head.

My cogitation is completely discombobulated by the headache that is a partner of hunger and stress.
I grew up with the hope of better but each second that passes causes that hope to get less and less.

Having to walk barefoot because a simple thing like a pair of sandals is out of my families price range.
Having to share a toothbrush, deodorant... Even sharing the few pieces of clothes we have isn't all that strange.

My mother is at her wit's end with not being able to make ends meet.
She's fed up with living in a world where getting her family through a day alive is like a great feet.

I cry just at the thought of my mom crying simply because she can't prevent us from crying.
I try to be encouraging by saving she should congrtulate herself for keeping us from dying.

I hurt for my siblings that hurt because hunger causes their tummy to hurt.
I resight a Psalms every night and everyday but it has gotten to the point where I don't see what it's worth.

No electricity because the bill is too costly so on the breeze outside at night we have become reliant.
We try and find every means of making it out of each day alive, to make us more perseverant, resilient and defiant.

The system of the inner-city was set up for us to not succeed but only to fail.
Poverty works as a close partner in this ordeal to prevent the possibility of our prevail.

It's strategy has and will always be effective in breaking us physically and spiritually.
While the inner-city completes this process by breaking us mentally and psychologically.

In the event of a sibling becoming sick, the entire family becomes distraught and stress levels go overboard.
Simply because poverty has resulted in less than mediocre health facilities being all that we can afford.

Crime and violence also rise due to the effect of poverty and this has been evident indeed.
People turn to crime because poverty is hindering them from providing food for the mouths that they have to feed.

If parents turn to crime to provide for their families then that leads to increased incarceration.
With parents being locked up, the youths have to face an even more harsh situation.
very long but also from personal struggles which have fueled my endurance

— The End —