I tried my best to work for my family, I really did.
I, Wish to stop being that beggar on the street,
Only able to claw at the bustling crowd,
Eyeing the vision of Ralph Lauren, Gucci or Prada,
And wondering how a 10-year-old's rags become increasingly baggy on a 14-year-old's frame.
If, the city stops its merry-go-round,
If, the world line wasn't just another whimsical wonderland,
If, Happiness didn't just smell as fortune,
With the perfume of cotton candy or popcorn or churros,
I believe the tears would have dried a little quicker.
If poverty didn't stab like the wounds from the previous job,
If I wasn't treated as just another pop-the-balloon dart game,
If this popped rubber had just a little more time to heal,
I believe the beatings would hurt a little less.
If the crowds didn't walk by me like another stallholder,
Refusing to spare a little more compassion because they see cardboard mattresses,
Not jumbo plushies, Lining my sty,
I believe life would be a lot easier.
Unfortunately, until then, the merry-go-round will still be in operation,
The rich will continue to mount unicorns of guarantees and luxuries,
While the poor can only stare through tear stained eyes,
And through the windows of 'if's and beliefs.