Sometimes.
You have a bad week.
But you splurge fifty bucks
at the thrift store.
For that fleeting moment;
You feel great.
You made it.
Till the glance around and
The knowing that
Your made it is someone else's
Barely making it. Barely there.
Falling apart and dispersed. Scattered.
Bits and pieces of a life, sad.
Like the clothes of a dead mom
Dumped in garbage bags and dumped
Outside the donation door
And sold to me and sold to you.
Just as it was made to be.
Stooping for crumbs and
Praising those who dumped
On me and dumped me
and made me.
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