JEREMIAD: "TRY MY SHOES" BY CYRA

The scorching sun on my head,

Sweat down my cracked face,

Fresh blisters at my palms and feet,

Up and down the highways I run,

Bare feet and hungry I run,

Clouds shed tears on my tatters,

Like the palm leaf during wind I shake,

My life is always hard.

On the cold floor I nurse my wounds,

At the moon I depend to train my writing skill,

The siren is always my nightmare,

My life is always on the run and pain,

My hideout is never a guarantee to my safety,

Someone oughts to keep me remembering,

Am not a normal kid.

Hardwork with low or no pay is my norm,

The pin of the boss is my plate,

My voice has no effect nor concern,

When they head to classroom,

I find my way to wash their clothes clean at their estates.

Though I shed tears when they mock me,

I have understood my class,

Am from the street family.

My shoes are getting heavy,

Police brutality is burning.

They longer fear in me as I  near their estates,

There walls are getting high and high,

Inside there moving metals they walk,

Curtains are now closed,

Am no longer allowed to keep near them,

What shall I eat tonight?

CYRA THE POET

(Dripping Pen)

The poet persona complains about the weight of challenges over his hustles of life, with the harshness of institutional bodies like the POLICE. He faces so many pains in his shoe and seems to say that his readers cannot cope with his experience, "try my shoes".