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You get off of your bed, and put on your work clothes.
They roll off a newspaper and have nothing to change into
You go downstairs to have breakfast and worry you’ll be late to work
They search for a scrap in sight and worry how their best friend might have gotten shot last night.
You get into your car and drive threw a tunnel called Lincoln to their world
You see big buildings called sky scrappers, were you work, hovering over you like a mother over a crib.
You park your car and dash inside
Hoping they won’t see you and ask for:
The people who live underneath you, who are different, who live under your work place.
You and everyone else run away from them as if and avalanche was chasing you.
Run away only because they have no
And if you were in their situation trying only to survive wouldn’t you do the same and ask for things?
But do those people really live underneath us? Our society our class and make us and our country look bad? Are they a disgrace to the world?
Do you ever stop to think as you sit at that desk for your job as a
Did the person you ran away from ever sit their? And maybe next time instead of running away think anyone could be in their shoes