A Poor Being Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Having nothing, barely existing, wanting to buy even just one
little outfit for our soon to be granddaughter, but we don't
have any money, not even for the dollar store.

Such horrendous sorrowful pain punctures a heart and bloody
tears flow straight from my heart and soul.

Even crying does nothing to ease the pain poverty rains upon
me again and again.

If it wasn't for the coming birth of our granddaughter, life
wouldn't be worth living, better off ending.