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ramoska
Poems
Feb 2019
the beauty of poverty
my clothes are ripped
my skin is hard
my hair is greasy
and my eyes are ever seeing
i gaze upon the street
the concrete
and the sound of feet
i see figures
of money and cloth
they do not know what it means to rot
for they have always thought in nought
my skin is ripped
my heart is hard
my hair is greasy
and my eyes are now foreseeing
Written by
ramoska
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