I live my life through a defined lens,
out of reach of the divine right to live
in comfort.

My days are green.
My mind is red.
And my pockets are grey.

I know the feeling of a light weight wallet
and the cotton rolled up in my pocket
better than I know the back of my empty hand.

I tread through thinly veiled disdain
for those who wear their privilege like a
thick dry-clean-only coat.

It is on my words that I choke back my pain
so that I can remotely emote
in unadulterated penniless peace.

My tears cease when I think,
What's the point of my white tears anyway?
To fill the cup of solidarity?

Barely.

Who's even gonna take a sip?
Probably someone with a seat at the table
Physically able, financially stable.

How do I piece together
the puzzles of my multifaceted life
of being both a have and haven't?

How do I find where I belong when those
with my skin and hair
lack the ability to share
my story with quiet and true understanding?

I'm flying above a world of layers.
And I ask
Where am I supposed to be landing?