Poor.

I am poor.
Economically, emotionally, spiritually.
Poor.
Can't grow nothing
but this tangled thorns.
Omg, I can't believe
that I exist
on borrowed time, no less.
Excuse me if I make a mess,
I've always tried my best.
But I can't tolerate myself,
the reason I can't stand still:
don't want to meet nobody
that speaks like me moves like me thinks like me.
Forgive me. I am poor.

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