The homeless, those who sleep under bridges, cardboard boxes, or any place abandoned, no address, no form of identification, and no place they belong maybe harder than we think. For those it’s hard to be accepted by society or even wanted!
Home only a memory
blurred somewhere this mind
comforts of four walls history
family left somewhere behind
haunting thoughts of yesterdays
family get together’s, when I belonged
now each night if a place my head lay
even hope seemingly gone
thinking as these streets I wander
A job to present myself
shower, clothes they ridicule
though try for my good, help
even most times treated a fool
some places food, church or a pantry
ashamed, even part of a burger disposed
seems my mind this life can’t be
but every day, the same is the way it goes
as these streets I wander, grow old
people must think of me as a stray dog or cat
dirty, hungry, and poor
guess I can’t blame them for that
and to them despicable, were to beg at their door
stay off their landscaped lawns
and God forbid their flowers accidentally step
tears as I wish I were one that belongs
reality though tells me I’m a lonely mess
where to sleep tonight as again I wander these streets!
Photo by Randy Jacob on Unsplash
Poetry
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