Don’t pity me,

I’m already dead.

Walk past me,

Spit and shake your head.

I’ve lost count.

It’s no longer a case of it being real,

But more a case of being ignored.

I’ll sit alone,

Drying out in the merciless heat of the sun.

My head spins too often,

This famine digs into the soul,

Deeper than anything else.

Beady-eyed children are,

Followed with cameras; showed to the rest of the world,

Documented, worried for.

Though it’s really a lie, isn’t it?

The world would rather eat food that costs the same amount,

As at least fifty meals for us,

Than help the sick, the poor and the defenceless.

I ask you,

Is it not bad enough that hundreds of years ago,

You took from us our children and our parents,

To work for you?

But now, you give us less financial help than what you spend on,

Wants.

What’s fair anymore?

Maybe with our passing from this world, you will realize,

That you are hurting the world.

Not us.

We have a people,

Not long for this world,

Remember us,

When the world is dying as well.

Our children sleep at night, whimpering for a morsel of food,

A morsel of anything that might cure the intolerable hunger.

Your children eat what they want,

Waste what they want.

Remember this,

When we are gone.

And when I die, I will be able to look at that glowing sun,

Feeling it,

Knowing it.

I did not kill this Earth.

It was you.