As a child we were so poor
that I couldn't afford an imaginary friend
For Christmas my favorite gift for sure
was a second hand air guitar for pretend
When I was small we were so poor
I only got to eat dirt, when company came
Although it made us as babies sore
disposable diapers we did reclaim
Often I would have to run
to avoid repossession of my skin as raiment
Daily, they would turn off the sun
due to lack of payment
- Author: sorenbarrett ( Offline)
- Published: May 26th, 2023 17:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 10
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Comments5
Aww, why was Christmas banned in our house? Cos Santa made an awful mess coming down the chimney, and ruined our lounge carpet each year. lol.
How discourteous of him. Was if from all the coal in his bag? lol Thanks for the review Orchi.
Some fat [*censored word!*] in a funny costume and white beard coming down the chimney. What next?! lol.
Now that's what I call really poor!
Thanks Bella for the review. Yes not me just someone I knew.
Can't afford an imaginary friend, that truly is sad..
Thanks for the review and comment
'Daily, they would turn off the sun
due to lack of payment'
what a wording of bleak hopelessness
just so despairingly vivid
and poignantly acute
why does our misery, help
elevate our artistry
what a curse of creativity...
simply Brilliant, my wise friend
thank you!
Thanks dear friend. You are right whether misery or abject joy the extreems seem to bring out artisry, be it poetry or painting or music.
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