They slumber on soggy cardboard squares in the streets,
while I sleep on my Tempur-Pedic fortress, not a pea to be found.
Children scream hungrily as their parents unconsciously lie on stained couches,
and I sit down to a freshly cooked family dinner—
Teens work from paycheck to paycheck to survive each week,
while I drive in my parent-paid convertible.
Peers struggle with depression and addiction,
as I stand smiling, clean, without a worry in the world.
She scurries to scrape pennies off the table
that I left behind without a second thought.
He wears that same tattered clothing every day,
and I have only worn my ensemble once.
Her mother grabs the paper bag and violently tips it back,
while my mother casually sips on half a glass of champagne.
All work day after day to make ends meet
while I lay on Daddy’s yacht, glistening
with tropical oils that gather my sunshine.
They look for a place of shelter from the world,
but I stand out in the open,
with everything I could ever need or ask for,
without acknowledging their never-ending
struggles.