14.7 million children live in poverty. I am one of them. And yet, no one seems to notice me or care. I’m just another piece of garbage in the street, just another thin, starved child that is above the notice of anyone. I wish tears could change my life, as if they could somehow wash out the hurt, and pain, as if they could drown the struggle. I’m so, so tired of living in poverty. I’ve almost given up hope- for it doesn’t give me anything but crushed dreams. But I can’t stop hoping. If I don’t hope, how will I provide for my family? How will we survive? We won’t. Oh, how I miss the taste of my mother’s homemade cooking: the fragrant aromas of her hot, buttery rolls, treats that melt in my mouth. I miss clothing that is not threadbare and worn or stained with tears and dirt. I miss seeing smiles on my siblings faces, I miss hearing constant laughter and giggles. Now all I hear is sorrow and depression. I only hear mothers begging for something to feed her children with, I only hear the dying breaths of children like me. And I’m afraid of what will happen to us, what will happen if death and starvation find us faster than our next meal. I’m not who I was, I never will be again. I will never be care-free or happy or full of laughter. Maybe one day I’ll be able to smile and take off my burdens of not being able to provide for my family. But not today. Today I must work, I must feed my family, I must provide, or we are all lost.
