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Starve MAG
November 2, 2016
The loud rumble of my stomach upsets you, why?
It's not my fault that my family cannot provide.
The devils of today sleep in luxury and bath in money,
while sweet angels of the lord lay homeless and bare in the streets.
Poverty is not an accident, it is man-made.
Men created it and men can end it.
Why let us suffer if you can end this?
Why let us die of starvation when you waste food?
Why let our children and grandchildren sleep in the cold when you have a spare room?
Why let your selfishness cause my death?
My blood is on your hands.
© Shirley L., Chino Hills, CA
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This poem was written as an expresive piece for an "identity" project that I completed on my past struggles with poverty. The project was about my experiences dealing with poverty and how it has shaped me into the person I am today.