My breath rises in a mist,
I take my first step.
Leaving poverty behind,
Is it all in my head?
What will I see?
Where will I go?
Will it be the same
As my left behind home?
My stomach churns,
My palms sweat,
Will I make it there alive?
Never doubt death.
My family wave
As I excrete a tear,
I’ll make it back soon,
Perhaps next year.
My case in my hand,
A gesture of hope,
A movement of change,
A past left behind.
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