being poor

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The teachers keep on sayin There’s a red white and blue dream  But the only red and blue we see fight round that white man referee   
  Walk a mile in my shoes With the holes in the toes I don’t have any goals And everybody’s smoking bowls I wish I had the courage 
I'm afraid of heights, but that's not all. There are no ropes in case I fall. Now that I'm an adult it seems, the only escape from anxiety is in my dreams.   I would love to wake up one day,
Twelve years old with a huge fabric binder, a new pair of shoes, and the exact same wardrobe as the year before. The shoes were maroon and grey and "only cost fifteen dollars!" my mom said.
An aftertnoon stroll has me walking by houses,   with doors that let me back   into realities I used to know. Run down homes with doors whose    screens are coming off the hinges, with doors that
Winter in a packed-to-the-brim house- black beans and cornbread as supper   for the fourth night in a row. The cold is rough for the poor people. A hand-me-down sweater barely keeps me warm
The boy wakes up in bed The girl wakes up from the ground The boy jumps in the warm shower The girl gets in the river instead   The boy puts on his fresh clean shirt
I needed it. A search for help comes too late, to those who wait. Not a cry or yelp will be of use.   I waited too long I missed the deadline. I sing my song of emptiness,
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