Straddling the fence.
One leg on the side of promise and opportunity;
the other, dangling in oppression and poverty.
I prove myself on every task I’m asked to tackle,
but it’s never enough to move the needle.
…Just bait and tackle. 
Attractive tools, but not necessarily enough to reel in the right fish.

I want to land both boots on the ground where the grass is greener,
but my garments keep getting stuck,
and my legs and arms cut,
on the barbed wire. 
Why is it so hard to get out of this perpetual cycle?
I can’t get all the way over without help.

When I cry out, they hear me, but they aren’t listening.  
They see my gifts, and instead of giving me bricks,
I get fed crumbs.
…I can’t build with that. 
I’m like a bird with clipped wings.
Not entirely caged and left to sing, 
but not entirely free.
It’s exhausting straddling this fence.