The Poor

So much to be told and so much we don’t say

We yearn for money, the hunger won’t let us think

Whispering silences of envy are invading my mind

They don’t know what it's like to be me, they can barely see me

But I can see them very clear, I want to be them so bad

Having everything they have, living without worries or fears

I don’t want to dream about what others have, I want to have it

Hanging from a thread that is about to break, no one seems to care

Money is what we eat, money is what we wear, and money is how we make things happen

Selling everything I have even these shoes I have on, nothing seems fair

After a long day, my feet are hurting but I have to keep going

Knowing tomorrow everything will repeat itself without an end

At night my room turns so cold, maybe is the loneliness or this empty place

Sadness and tears are not enough to describe my life

The life of the poor, the ones who don’t have the right to do anything they want  

The dreams of the poor are big and hardly becomes true

My mother said to me once that the dreams don’t pay the bills

Completely hopeless I’ve been, sometimes lost between the people of this city

I tell myself to get up when I fall even though my knees are weak and the day is long

Living with the hope that tomorrow everything will get better.