You pride obnoxiously in your materials.
While I cry because hypocrisy has invaded my heart.
I envy the rich,
Yet everyday I yearn for the bare minimum of what they have.
I curse them.
But can I meet them?
Never could I beat them.
So I treat them,
As If they are the enemy
Who stole what could’ve possibly, been mine.
What makes them special that they get all the lavish things that I can only dream for?
My dreams are their realities.
And my reality is their nightmare. And they stare,
But never do they spare,
As I ask for nothing more than a dollar,
No it gets me no richer
But at least I am a dollar further,
And a hunger lesser.
Looking down on me.
As if I am less,
As if I am nothing,
But If I had a million dollars in my pocket,
Guarantee they would flock around me like I am something.
Money is who they are,
Not what they have.
Never will they be in my position
Is what they claim.
So I curse them,
And I curse them again,
Because I want them to feel
And I pray that they feel the same…pain.
And as I gained,
What they have,
Never would I imagine that I would become that rich man who had done the poor bad.
Todays poetry contest submission was written by Teighlor Mitcham.
Do you think it could possibly be one of the best new poems of 2013?