The Great Depression


If I had to pay to cry,
I'd be living on the streets.
people would stop by,
placing change by my feet.

I'd have that one little blanket,
I grabbed before I got evicted.
and a sign that read:
"I may be hooked on getting better,
but I'm obviously not addicted."

the people around me are thinking
"those tear charges must've attacked her"
and I'm just thinking,
"when will I experience the great feeling of ataraxia?"

but life is flooded with problems,
some are small, some are large.
so I'm always thanking God,
for the abilities free of charge.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem