Here I am

Can't you see?

I'm the person

You don't want to be

Your rich, your famous

You shouldn't care

You're just lucky

You have money to spare

I am just

The unlucky girl

Whose tears mean nothing

With no fate to unfurl

Your money,

Your fame,

Its all but a game

As the day comes

When it all should matter

I come out thinner

You come out fatter

I live in world

With too many fears

And along with that

Too many tears

Sleep tonight

And wake tomorrow

And as the day begins

Will you see my sorrow?

Alas, this poem comes to its end

And still you think

You have no money to lend?

This tale won't end with hastened flight

Until you help my terrible plight.

- Cry of the Poor