the love in my soul grows cold
from consumerist lesions and smiles that are painted on with invisible hands.
yet still, supply and demand
are people's pick-me-ups
and the sweet scent of positivity is considered corrupt.
when it rains, the sky drops pieces of the pie I can never attain
despite my wealth of spirit.
but I go to work every day, praying for the change that was promised.
I don’t want to be rich, only heard
by those who write the checks and protect the peace of power.
outside of my tenement window, I see expensive cars atop the litter,
pregnant teens who never learned the ABC’s and educators who never want to forget
where they came from.
who said it was easy to live like a lover
and work like a slave?
just to be reminded that the only guaranteed fortune
is a grave.
© Crystal Belle
3 Power to the People:
as always sis, POWERFUL. my writing wants to be like yours when it grows up (I honestly just read this 15 times. Love it).
your self-expression is passionately felt...glad I stumbled upon your page
it's so true ... you work and work and are guaranteed essentially nothing ... and it's also so true that as educators we're always working hard to stay true to our upbringing and roots (at least some of us, wink-wink). love the poem, girl!
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