A Love Letter to My Poverty…

To my dearest Poverty:

O My darling, beloved Poverty…

Do not let me rise above you.

Without your recollection, without your scars…

As the alarm bells chime… within the depths of soul and mind. 

Stay with me, my dear “traumas of difficult times.”

Humble me.

Teach me.

And never stop.

Please do not let me forget you.

…Do not fade from my consciousness. 

Let me choose you.

Like the great Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said.

Even as I will be gifted and blessed with such a choice.

….Bestowed with abundance.

Please do not leave me.

Do not forsake me. 

I shall have more. I must have more.

To stay alive.

To survive.

To thrive. 

And to “pay it forward.”

But it does not mean that I must forget you.

That I wish to forget you.

As you stayed with me through those countless nights dancing with the moon…

I must rise.

I will rise.

Like the great Dr. Maya Angelou once said.

But I don’t want to forget you.

Please know you shall never be forgotten.

I will never abandon you.

The same way that the world abandoned me. 

I want you to come with me. 

Be here, beside me.

I do seek solace.

I do need to feel some relief…some joy, in this “pursuit of happyness”…

But that sorrow I shared through you must not disappear.

Can never disappear.

I need you. 

Forgive me for my emotions, but you are such an intrusive force.

Mind you, I do appreciate your intrusion.

And I acknowledge your significance. 

Shame on me, they say, for parading you, to show you off to the world.

To boast about you, my love…

To honor you and your impact upon me.

And what you mean to me.

But I don’t care.

I cannot care.

I must disregard this censure. 

I’ll happily flaunt you.

I must proudly celebrate you. 

Shame they proclaim, because there exists poverty deemed much “worse” than you.

Shame they proclaim, because society shames & vilifies economic struggle. 

Shame they proclaim, because you are not supposed to belong to me. 

Shame they proclaim, because I was too proud to ask for help.

Shame they proclaim, because there are moments I could not think beyond myself. 

Oh, My Beloved Darling Poverty… 

Let the “evil eyes” watch me, scorn me, shame me, reproach me, and bequeath me, as I rise above you and yet, eternally remember you in my deeds. 

Please do not let me break this vow to you.


Peace, warmth, and blessings, 

Your Sister, Dr. Elsa

Warrior KQueen

“She wasn’t looking for a Knight, She was looking for a Sword.” – Atticus

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2 comments on “A Love Letter to My Poverty…

  1. I don’t want to engage with your posts as a compulsive formality just to wave my hand telling you I am there…my multiple strains and stresses of OCD are enough for me. I don’t wish to read all your posts as its unnatural and I can’t do that. I don’t want to have a superficial connection. But amongst hundreds of my connection on fb, you are the only one whom I am connected with at a very different level. The reason is, I know where are you coming from and what are you saying. Just look at this post…what a masterpiece. Its more of an ode to poverty..not less than Keats…its so strong, vivid and deep. Loved every bit of it. I could hear the screaming silence….ohhh me darling poverty…..waoooww

    • Thank you for your astute and sincere observations about this piece. This especially means the world to me, considering you are a poet yourself, Saeed. It’s amazing to have a friend out there, however millions of miles away, who actually gets it, and truly sees the message as well as the sincerity behind it. Thank you. It makes one feel less invisible. I don’t think I deserve the compliment about Keats, but thank you for saying that, wow. And really thank you so much for taking the time to read this…

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