Being Poor Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Having nothing, barely existing, wanting to buy
even just one little outfit for our soon to be
Granddaughter, but we don't have any money.
Not even for the dollar store.
Such horrendous sorrowful pain punctures my being
and bloody tears flow straight from my heart and
soul.
Even the crying does nothing to ease the pain,
poverty rains upon me again and again.
If it wasn't for the coming birth of our Grand-
daughter, life wouldn't be worth living, better
off ending.