All Poor

Hundreds sift in to the florescent-lit gym, holding blue ticket halves.
Less than half are Caucasian. Less than half are African-american. Most are somewhere in between. A handful are Latino. A smaller handful are Asian 'Tiger' mothers, dragging along two or three small children wearing uniform pants and having bobbed jet black hair.
All poor.
We're all poor here.
We are Akron, Ohio.
We sit in this old building, gathered from many bloodlines and situations, to watch our children ignore the walls we put up. The speakers crack because the city won't pay for better ones.The walls echo to their corners, where the paint chips away, leaving half of a profane phrase brazenly scrawled upon it.
Out of this, rises their innocent voices. For months, they have practiced and memorized these songs that take us back to times we'd forgotten. They practiced them in classrooms where they are outside of their family bubble, in classes which lend them to opportunities where they can interact with people different than them.
They all stand in those rickety bleachers, beaming at each other as loving friends. Some are bigger, some are scrawny. Some have wrinkled clothes- some went all out, even having had their mothers take them to get their hair done. Some have a dim countenance, knowing in a few short minutes they will go back home to the abuse and the drugs. Some smile, never knowing of these things.
Being away at college, I forgot these people existed. I became aware of the suffering in other parts of our world, but I forgot about what goes on in my town, in my home.
Everything is handed to us at the university- our food, our beds, our water. We play, stress, walk, date, hurt, and laugh on less than a square mile of land, on a hill looking over a highway. (Oh, I forgot- we study, too ;)
I don't fit with the rich kids. They don't get me, either. I'm not one of them. I never will be. In relation to other countries, we may not have it that bad- but it still hurts individuals. Emotions still are toyed with. Akron is where I come from. Those are my people. Only those who have lived the way I have lived and seen life transpire there will ever understand me, and my mindset.
It's not even a complicated thing. It's just... a life some people will never see. Whether we are better or worse people for having seen it or not... we will never- and can never- know.