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POEM
Wealth Beyond Money
Embracing Our Flaws
It came to me that I had focused
on the wrong things,
so I wrote my wrongs on a notepad,
but the impact of my pain
still hangs in the despair
of desperation that chased solace.
I sought what most call wealth
in a bank account.
I wrote reasons for this desire
mired in loneliness.
I crumpled the sheets of paper
and buried them beneath the surface.
But my thoughts wouldn’t die.
People went under the knife
to correct their insecurities
too afraid to love their flaws
as they scrambled to knit
loose ends together
from the mistakes the destitute had to make.
I’d watch people to see if they knew
the move they’d make before they moved.
Their posture and stature in a parking lot
of broken dreams revealed which car
before they hit the panic button.
If they received a call from the underclass,
They’d let it go to voicemail.
I was just like those people,
but Sophia brought me back down
to live among the living dead
and the wealth of her presence
would make the stock market jealous.
We had wealth, but nothing
in common with the wealthy.
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