I Am Not Sorry Poem by Alex Rose

If you don't know why you're alive

You are not living.

Time isn't ours to take

But if you get caught giving it back

You are not living.

We are sick, any healthy mind would surely infer

I am not living.

We print our dollars with materials from the Earth

And with every cent, we gauge ourselves good or bad.

As my worth eroded before me

As my brother took his last breath

As I was chained to the walls of a broken home

Not once did I concern myself with money

If I die tomorrow, read this one.

I am not sorry.