“Poverty should not be a crime. But it is punished just the same.”
Things get worse before they get better
That is the way of Things, so They say
I say you never see rock bottom
If you can look back and laugh
It doesn’t bend all the way
Feels like there’s cables
Caught on a hinge
Fraying at the edges
Rolling over bone
Snapping like rubber bands
Burning like static shock
Aching like an anvil pressed
Against the sides
Always loose but
Always wrenched tight
Assumptions we make based on a
fragile glass menagerie, precarious
on a tight-rope stretched over the
amber desert canyon and the roaring
torrents running through it, so easy
to plummet and shatter and break
like so little nothing loves before
we were forged in iron-clad truths
few things are built by destiny
we were made to be the last