Poor On Poor Poem by Ima Ryma

Poor On Poor



The inner city's where I roam
With all the other kids like me.
The streets are the only real home,
And that is where we'll always be.
Most moms and dads look for the Man
To give 'em money to get by.
Survival is the only plan,
Cuz all that's for sure is to die.
Out there we know we're just a stat,
Bounced about like a ping pong ball.
What percent of poor are we at?
And will that percent ever fall?

Been born into this neighborhood,
And gonna grow up to no good.

Sunday, April 27, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: home
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Susan Lacovara 27 April 2014

I should hope that there are still dreams within your heart that will carry you to a better environment of hope and resilience. Aspire to greater things and then set your course in motion....change only comes about when you desire to make change. A strikingly honest poem. PEACE

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