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The Pain of Being Poor

Remember to count your blessings.

By Gloria RosePublished 6 years ago 1 min read

When i was a girl i lived in a house

Eight people lived in that house

That house was the only home i knew

It was a burgundy colored home

That had white bricks and trimmings

On the outside that house looked tolerable

But on the inside the house was falling apart

My parents never let me bring friends over

Because the house had holes in the floors

Its strange that back then i thought it was normal

The water barely worked

The heat didnt work

No air conditioning in that house

Yet i spent twelve years in that house

That house was my home

If you ask me about my childhood to this day

I never say that i was raised in poverty

Poverty is shameful it is painful

It casts a shadow on whatever it touches

Now im an adult and i dont have much

But still im not afraid of being poor

Because i was poor for so long it doesn't scare me

I keep fighting i keep living

I remain honest i remain pure

Even when i dont know how im going

To pay a bill or buy food to eat

I dont let poverty and pain destroy me

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About the Creator

Gloria Rose

Hello im a 24 year old woman who is new to writing . Please if you like something I write let me know it keeps me motivated to create even more wonderful things!

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