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The Pain of Being Poor

Remember to count your blessings.

When i was a girl i lived in a house

Eight people lived in that house 

That house was the only home i knew 

It was a burgundy colored home 

That had white bricks and trimmings

On the outside that house looked tolerable

But on the inside the house was falling apart 

My parents never let me bring friends over

Because the house had holes in the floors

Its strange that back then i thought it was normal 

The water barely worked

The heat didnt work

No air conditioning in that house 

Yet i spent twelve years in that house

That house was my home

If you ask me about my childhood to this day

I never say that i was raised in poverty

Poverty is shameful it is painful 

It casts a shadow on whatever it touches

Now im an adult and i dont have much

But still im not afraid of being poor

Because i was poor for so long it doesn't scare me

I keep fighting i keep living 

I remain honest i remain pure 

Even when i dont know how im going 

To pay a bill or buy food to eat

I dont let poverty and pain destroy me

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The Pain of Being Poor
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