Although my face isn’t hidden, you pretend that you are not aware of my presence.

If by chance you happen to glance in my direction, you make assumptions about my identity ,without ever actually knowing who I am.

Since you are not interested in hearing my story, within your mind you attempt to fill the pages of my life ,with your thoughts about what caused my current condition.

Like a skilled physician, you make your diagnosis of my problems.

Carefully examining every detail of my misery, making sure that none of it can remotely relate to you.

Stereotypes and hearsay comfort you into

believing that you are immune from catching this disease.

But I have come to shed some light on who I am, and burst your bubble of immunity.

Most people who I accompany never wanted me.

They never invited me in, and they don’t want me to stay.

But I don’t don’t need an invitation.

I’m excellent at just showing up at the most inconvenient time.

I can come upon you suddenly without any warning at all.

I am an unwanted guest.

I never discriminate.

I will come to any age, race or gender of person , as long as their circumstances allow me in.

My name is poverty.

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