202 SW 8th Avenue

They laugh so loud to learn of your struggle;

You are the performing clown named Snuggle.

If I was unsure of the facts and their true ideations;

I would not assert myself so firmly; for fear of consternation.

However, it was by no flip of the coin, that this did evolve;

It was no mere coincidence that I was practically starved.

We sat on the sheet-less bed and had to wonder each day;

If we would make it out alive and just had to pray.

For there was absolutely no one to reach out to now;

As we wiped the sweat dripping from our brows.

When I was growing-up, I would have never as so believed,

That such a thing could happen to any Rich, John or Steve.

To be honest, I do not know how I ever survived;

I am sure to most this must sound somewhat contrived.

I remember asking my brother for $20 to buy some pasta;

To which I got the reply “that it may be wise to ask some Rasta.”

The bedbugs were eating us up alive and sucking our last bit of blood;

But no one reached out to help—and we were drowning in the mud.

The heat and sun were relentless, and we had to stay in one place;

For we could not afford to buy a fuse to fix the AC in another space.

I recall writing my mother all about our misfortune in a letter;

To which she replied, “it may be wise for you to contact a shelter.”

My sister outright refused to believe and denied this allegation.

She believed that my mother was not capable of such an abomination.

We waited on long lines to get food at the local church;

They handed us one bag with some stale donuts to search.

We had decided that we were going to live at the beach, as our last straw;

But quickly discovered that it was regulated by the police and the law.

In the heat of the moment, I downed several hundred pills without water;

I waited for death to warm over, after 30 minutes no such slaughter.

So, I turned over and said to my hubs “Call 911 for I am dying!”

Which he adamantly refused to believe, thinking that I was lying.

Later I was told that while I was unconscious, my mother said to the staff,

“That this is what my son does to get money out of me, quite the laugh.”

I was later sent back home, which was 20 days away from eviction;

Thus, my attempt at peace from this chaos seemed an eternal contradiction.

However, a true to life miracle did occur, and happened right before me;

And on the final day, my hubs won $3,500 which allowed us to keep the key.

By mere coincidence, this final day, just happened to be the date of my birth;

The 29th of May, so perhaps the gods did not think I was done with this earth.

This piece of history just touches upon a glimpse of time in which I did suffer;

Nevertheless, there are some others, which you may think were even rougher.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741