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mk Feb 2020
there is poverty
in the
smell of ***.

a hidden guilt: shame.

***** towels
10 rupee soap.

tissues in the trashcan.

we cannot afford
the sterilization
of intimacy.

cannot clean nor claim our space.
roam room to room;
poverty to poverty.

carrying our stench
and shame.
Shane Roller Feb 2020
No account slum town man
Over there
Pounding on a beatnik drum
So glum
No talent, but dreams
A mind ripped apart at the seams
And a soul that burns
With love
For the hot fire of inspiration
And the passion
Of life
That passed him by
Liz Jan 2020
I don't know what to do
I saw the poverty of the world in June
But "at least its not me"

Everyone is depressed and broken
They're filled with pain, unspoken
But "at least its not me"

The weight brings me down
All the colors blur into brown
They tell me "just be thankful"

How can I be thankful for a toilet
When my friends are escaping a bullet?

How can I think of comfort and the fireside
When broken children are committing suicide?

Comfort is nice, but does it really matter? Just look around, humanity is shattered
But "at least its not me"
3/6/19
Erin Suurkoivu Jan 2020
It isn’t as if
I must put on
the Queen’s English
to be around you.

It isn’t as though
I should feel
the need to rebel, or
that my solitude

is a luxury
instead of a right.
Rather, these are
the whale-bone songs

of a well-worn battalion,
poised as I am
at every solstice,
footsore at the door.

This is simply
the ebb and flow
of ambrosia
that sets the pendulum

to swing
in different arcs
of fool’s gold,
the soft footings

at the edge of my radar.
This is the culture shock
of living dead girls
undergoing a seismic shift

in the round
mother-of-pearl
mountain ash,
insinuating

themselves
in a sea of voices,
while shadows cast
a romantic screen.

For every one that succeeds,
millions of others fail.
So tell me
how it should be,

that I could live
on my knees
and weep honey tears
as my dreams escape me.

Because this is
a death of sorts.
The phoenix rises,
only to burn again.

Poverty
is a personal Shanghai,
and just as vast.
I want to believe

that wealth can be
weathered beauty,
Elizabethan colouring,
and a pirate smile.

You get my most
gorgeous parts,
although
my flaws,

innumerable,
hidden
in blind spots,
hidden in ivory,

are discovered
again and again,
as I live between what was
and what will be.
Emanzi Ian Dec 2019
Big Bellies,Big Cars.
These are our leaders.
Sunken Eyes,Starving stomachs
Those are your neighbors.
Dysfunctional systems and it's not so important.
Hospital shelves have no drugs and the beds are rusty.
There is no food in the basket
But the main economic activity for the country is agriculture
Bribery is now part of culture.
The doctor will decline to offer you his assistance if you don't avail him with 'a little something'.
Part of our taxes go to personal accounts some abroad.
On Some days some people in the City,I Have seen some,sell their blood through donation drives in hopes for the free biscuit and soda and this is lunch.
And some go on for some days without any food not even little to their mouth
And not because of leisure or for their pleasure.
On the days when they get what to offer to the impatiently waiting intestines,it's a pleasure.
Some of our young girls are introduced to adulthood because of the conditions in the families they come from.
Chips and chicken,KFC,maybe Cafe Javas,have fun together and definitely bed later.
Some have 'achieved' more than this,like small cars say Vitz,Raum and Spacio but their lives have not changed for the better.
Some offer their Prized bodies to these predators for petty items like phones,clothes and leisure.
The dignity lost in doing this has a measure.
All this because for some of their needs and wants,some even so small,Their parents can't cater.
Potholes in the roads can even be a topic to joke about
Harming our cars that we toiled so much to acquire,we are not so bothered,since the people in charge,will soon work on them(We hope)
Sewerage spews all over our streets and roads sometimes and still we are hopeful for the better.
Maybe not now,maybe later.

Big bellies,Big Cars.
Those are our leaders.
Sunken eyes,Starving stomachs
Those are your Neighbors
Guadalupe S P Dec 2019
It is raining   and it is Christmas in L.A
the home       of paramount pictures  and the home        of skid row

Each drop multiples         heavy
like the narratives             given
to justify                             why
some deserve to be           out on the streets

on day like this when the water pours and seeps into their tents   bridges cannot hide or cover                         our collective apathy                           (shame) as we cross  
into the next decade    “i am not to blame
if he/ she / they            don’t have a home
what a shame.”
neth jones Nov 2019
fall from the lies

you've pinched yourself poor

fall from the lies

they are no nesting place

fall from the lies

thrive

from your dormancy

shudder off your sleep state

regain your currency

fall from your lies

and the famine of all this 'luxury'
Eileen H Oct 2019
splintered
my bare legs
i am smiling for you
this is the best I can love you
softer than this wood
this is the best
I can love

please

remember my skin
keep it
i don't know how to
own anything
not even
this love
bony like my legs
my bared teeth
these are
your bones now
these are your bones
to chip
like wood

i don't know how to own anything
i only know how to splinter
smiling for you
saying
over and
over into the
couch
that isn't mine
do you love me? do you love me?
do you love me? do you love me?
RL Canoy Oct 2019
A flock of sheep
Wandering amidst desert
Walking along the thorny path
In seems like endless arid land
Someday I will lead them
Towards oasis and green pasture.

©Raffy Love Canoy |October 2019|
Dream for my family
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