Poverty Within The Lines

Let me speak to you the words that reside between the lines of what defines poverty. Poverty.... is not a skin color. Its not made of black and brown faces staring into a camera while a D list celebrity asks you to be a sponsor. For just 15 cents a day. Poverty isn't a race or religion. It does not lurk behind mosaic stained glass windows. Or hide within the thorns of Jesus' crown. Poverty is something much more deeply rooted. It is the rusty nail hammered into the palms if our communities. Crucifying our children's futures before they're even born. Now our roses struggle to blossom from the blood soaked concrete.  Poverty does not consist of deprived hands extended to the world for spare change. It is far more bold than that. It is the lack of opportunities and the false dream that everyone has them. It is the abundance of oppression and the idea that it doesn't exist in our own backyards. It is the tainted images of our broken spirits that stand on street corners and dance on poles. These are the images our children are forced to identify with; forced to mimic. Why would they want to be doctors when trappin and strippin puts more food on the table much quicker. Education? Self love? Respect for others? Ain't nobody got time for that! Who has time to be all up in some books? Who has time to build themselves or their people while life's paint chips off the crumbling castle walls and brown water pours from the corroded faucets of our unity? Who has the fucking time? Time is money baby, and that is where our undreamed dreams lay. In the hands of the privileged as they actualize what we never even knew to visualize. Because those that went against the grain to escape rarely come back to give back.  You see, poverty is not a country bordered by lines of fire. It is not the state of being extremely poor. It is a state of mind. A mental illness that allows the lack of ambition to fester deep inside. It is the terrorist that keeps fear hostage in our hearts and tortures the sovereign thoughts on our crowns.  Poverty is a social status. It is the steel bars that incarcerate our knowledge of self. It is what keeps our sons circling through that revolving door called the prison system. It is the 3.5 inch thick polycarbonate window our babies have to look out of just to get a glimpse of their fathers. Look but do not touch my child. Now wave bye bye to daddy, our hour is up.  

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My community
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