I just want to say,
that I see you…
even though I am cushioned
by everything you lack.
My self aches.
It’s an unmovable ache.
It’s the ache of living next door
The ache of MY “haves” and YOUR “have nots.”
I want so badly to escape your story..
The truth is, it makes me UNCOMFORTABLE.
Poor uncomfortable me, while you, on the other hand…
actually struggle to survive.
I feel like no matter what we do…
it CAN NEVER BE enough.
I hate that poverty makes you beg.
As a good middle-income-bracket-midwest-girl…
I cringe that when you see me you see “money.”
I hate that you are right.
I DO “have everything” I need.
Without fail you will shout at me…
“Hey, white person. Give me a pen!”
My color, and what it means to you,
makes it so hard for us to just be friends.
Poverty is like a hole
and it sucks anyone around
into it’s blackness.
There is hope, to be sure…
but sometimes I just can’t see it through the ache.
The ache of deformed-legs-man “walking” on hands.
The ache of swollen bellies on young littles.
The ache of baby dead in mother’s arms.
The ache of knowing that the pen you so badly want
WON’T fill your belly
or keep you safe tonight.
I see you,
even though sometimes I just want
to pretend you don’t exsist.
To look right past you banging on my window.
Seeing your pain saps me. Again, “poor me.”
The truth is, I always SEE YOU…
and I wish I saw a different picture.
I wish I was seeing
a healthy-happy-roof-over-head-belly-full-of-food YOU.
I wish I was doing MUCH more to make that picture REAL for you.