Published December 11, 2015
I am black, white, and brown
I am a mother, sister, daughter, friend
I am young, old, single, married, trapped
I am the super glue, duct tape, staples to a shoe who has hopes to make it through one MORE wear
I am the voice on the phone pleading to not turn off her power
I am the gnawing growl that grows from deep within a belly that went without lunch and dinner
I am government cheese, free lunches, EBT, cheerios, Section 8, empty faces at the health dept. clocks ticking.
I am the drug test they say you must take for the Escalade you do not drive, all for that plastic card you need to survive
I am scarred hopes for a better life held down by the arms of politicians who see me as only a problem but don’t bother to find a solution
I am the dirty secret that gets pushed under the used carpet at night with hopes that I won’t crawl out
I am the 46.2 million that live below a line that has not been defined since before we had light.
I am growing, growing out of policies, stigmas, and ignorance.
Unlike the 2.6 million people that just dropped below my line, I’m not going to bed hungry. Fed off the lies of the politicians that claim they want to help but stuff legislation down my throat to choke out my cries of oppression, my belly is full.
I am Poverty and until you take me for who I am, find a solution to why I am here, I am here to stay.