A young man's struggle with homelessness, coupled by society's stigma of the unfortunate. |
The sun is shining But I can’t see through the trees There is a snowstorm coming That looks like a heavy, black fog They look down upon me They think I sit here because I am strange Some won’t even look into my eyes But wonder what is my plight I stand on the corner every day at noon With a sign, “Will Work for Food” The afternoon goes by and night approaches again My hunger has left me for yet another day I retire to my cardboard box in the abandoned building Sleeping is hard for me because I begin to hear sounds Unlike the day, I hear loud noises Inside the building, so many people, I can barely breathe Hearing children cry, I turn my head Mothers wrap their babies in tattered blankets Young men and and women with dirty needles Heroin is their only friend and worst enemy Bringing them to this low place How did this become my life? I have tried all I know to escape this continuous poverty No address for welfare, no money to start a new life God took my family from me My mother, father, two sisters and brother They disappeared in the night As the firemen put out the flames At 14, my life and stability up in smoke Here I lay, trying to shut out out the noise Trying not to see what lies before me I am young; a good person Yet they glare like I am a freak If I had only been in my bed sleeping That hellish night I wouldn’t be here trying to close my eyes Only to wake to a brand new day Again my sign reads, “Will Work For Food” Will I regain my own dignity? Today, will you change my life? |