You ever have one of those days
where you wake despite insight
that the pain of
accumulates til the paved walks
and dirt ways
save no blank spots?
Shame, shame falls down
my bare body to a blocked drain
past dye stains, as
all I do of late
is smoke weed and wash, ignore
the front door knocks.
I can't find my wallet.
I can't find my passport.
It's a problem because
my driver's license expired.
Need the passport for weed.
Need it to cash the paycheck.
At *-Mart, because I
don't have a bank. US, Chase,
Wells Fargo. I owe from the past.
But if I don't get to the CDC,
or Nectar to get the weed,
I won't function my best.
I'll be without mental rest.
At 800 a month, it's my only
and the most expensive hobby.
Breathing in the shadow was his destiny;
Yet he walked on the street pleasantly.
Little feet embraced the scorching asphalt;
Yet he walked on the street without a halt.
Skinny arms struggling to move his sack;
Yet he walked without turning back.
Belly crying for a roti and some water;
Yet he walked like those didn’t matter.
He knew he had to fulfill his concern;
A duty to survive and somehow earn…
Empty stomachs speak languages only the mind can hear
starving children make sad melodies
while mothers and fathers stomachs sleep empty
living life while facing internal tragedy
they eat and breath starvation
while their countries exploit those working
victims of a broken nation
beggars make more income than those working
poverty is their new identity
starvation is their reality
I am from poverty.
I am from sleepless nights,
hoping that my mom lives on.
I am from the news of my brother's death.
I am from being molested as a child.
I am from not knowing my father.
I am from living on the streets of Amsterdam,
trying to make it on to the next day.
I am from standing outside the park,
dreaming of being able to play stress-free.
I am from selling my body as a teen
to scrap up enough money for food.
I am from countless beatings.
But most importantly, I am from God.
We have many ideals,
but we do not seem to have idealists anymore.
We have droves of problematizers,
but we do not seem to have solutions anymore.
We have endless media discourse,
but we do not seem to have dialogue anymore.
We have unrestrained capitalism,
but we do not seem to have money anymore.
We have innumerable drugs,
but we do not seem to have treatment anymore.
We have scores of Baby Boomers,
but we do not seem to have elders anymore.
We have unlimited vacation days,
but we do not seem to have days off anymore.
We have incalculable amounts of information,
but we do not seem to have facts anymore.
We have regular, established elections,
but we do not seem to have elected officials anymore.
We have America,
but we do not seem to have a nation anymore.
Let's spend all our money on War,
Destroy the Public Schools,
And make a College Education prohibitively expensive.
When an area becomes gentrified,
We can sweep the Homeless off the Streets,
Lock them up
And profit by incarcerating them.
Isn't that The Way of Progress?
His name was poverty
he's the symptomn of a system that bleeds greed
The rich exploit the young, the poor, so they may feast off the backs of children
Bodies of those lost to the system pile up underneath them
Never shedding a tear for those lost to the streets laying in cold dirt beds with grass sheets
No sleeping in,
everyone gets a bath
hair parted to the right.
Momma's got her best dress out,
black, with white flowers
faded and frayed at the edges,
no one will notice,
that's what she tells herself
running her fingers over the lace collar.
It was beautiful when she bought it
but that was years ago.
Her white pumps aren't too scuffed.
Maybe next month she'll get a new dress.
Maybe She said the same thing last month.
She never cries about it, but I can see the tears,
she tries to hold them back as I walk past her
to get last year's hand-me-downs from the dryer.
"Time to go," she says, grabbing her bible,
King James, worn and coming apart at the binding,
but a Bible should be well used.
She gives us each a pat on the head with it
as we march past her,
single file down the broken wooden steps
and into the car,
it starts on the third try.
We'll get there on time,
and listen to the preacher tell us
how humility is found in poverty.
Donald Trump's unleashed a budget
with fanfare great and loud;
And if you helped elect him
you are, no doubt, standing proud.
Such joy and happiness you'll feel
and oh such special thrills,
to find yourself in bankruptcy
from rising healthcare bills.
With public education trashed,
most kids will come out fools,
but so glad for those richer kids
in better, private schools.
No more funding for the arts,
oh what a lovely treat,
to walk past starving artists out
panhandling on your street.
When you drink water from your tap
and start to gag and choke,
be grateful that the E.P.A.
has gone right up in smoke.
If you're old and your Medicaid
won't cover that prescription,
will "Proud to die before my time"
be on your grave's inscription?
So where will all the savings go
from all this cost reduction?
Be thrilled to know it will buy more
weapons of mass destruction;
and it will build a monument
to Trump, so we will see
a massive wall, so broad and tall,
as useless as is he.
Though into pain and suffering
your country will be slidin',
your vote for Trump has given you
a budget you'll take pride in.