A few streets down

away from this perfected outer shell of blissful indulgence that we have created


a city of

distorted faces,




I am from a city of diversity—but here, separation turns into segregation. Racism.



Our indulgences—selfish—snatches from the weak and creates an era of

poverty. An era of the big.

Downtown beggers dancing for pennies. Cardboard signs

begging for money, children

on the corner, every corner—starved and frail.

Mommy, I'm hungry.

Mommy, it's cold.

Mommy has no food.

Mommy stopped listening,

she can't hear you.


Look the other way while the rest of the city is


crying. Begging. 


Cold and alone, we walk.


Nice suits, clean shoes, wallets full,

disgust and pity for those who beg at our feet,

but never a helping hand.


Turn your head the other way when you see them,

only to wish someone will look at you

when you have

lost it, lost it all.


I come from a city where you

are your own.


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