My Heritage

I told my mother I got accepted to college,

I told her I left for basic within the month.

She said to me, “Are you trying to be funny?

What makes you think

that you will make it? You act

like you don't remember

where you came from.”

What a thing to say, right?

I remember where I came from,

maybe the same fucked up place you did.

Did they call you trailer trash,

did your clothes stink?

How often did you get to eat?

Were you like that homeless guy,

I gave him a head of cabbage,

he sleeps outside of the church on Walnut.

Maybe you've seen him a few times,

maybe he asked you to spare a dollar.

Did you?

I hope you don't think it's rude

that I look at you and wonder

if you feel just as unworthy as me.

I wonder if you shelter hopped

like I did. I know I'm not alone,

our numbers are rising, man

pretty soon we'll rule the world,

I see us everywhere. You can't walk down the street

without seeing us. My heritage

is the “dirt-f*****g-poor,”

or at least that's what mother told me.

We have generations of welfare families,

if you go to a Salvation Army, chances are

it will be filled to capacity.

Every day I hear of someone dropping out of college,

because they can't afford the tuition.

But still I was told by some

oblivious jackass

that we are the minority. Most people aren't like

us, like me and you. Can you believe that?

Looking around me,

it doesn't seem possible.