Country of Hunger
Feeding them a loaf of bread with coffee and giving them a goodnight kiss...
Kids starving and looking for food,
Worried for their mom's safety and what she does for work,
Mothers asking for money to bring their families some hope at home,
Working extra hours to make it through the week,
Who would think someone has to go through this,
Sleeping to hold the ache that comes from hunger,
Selling yourself, because you just need the money to feed your kids,
Feeding them a loaf of bread with coffee and giving them a goodnight kiss,
No doctor visits because you can afford it,
Crying in your bed praying to the lord he won't take your son,
Have been pointed with a gun, wanting to do more but you can't run,
Every day is a worry when you live in a country of hunger.
About the Creator
Jessica Pedraza Nicanor
Writing is about sharing any type of emotions and thoughts the writer has to share with the public. I share my writing with only one purpose, let my feelings through my writing relate, help, and inspire someone out there.
IG:@jessinicza
Keep reading
More stories from Jessica Pedraza Nicanor and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.