As I sit on the curb amidst the foul smelling street,
odors of beer and urine, the haze of fumes from cars
driving past, I am okay. Sitting in filth. This is my comfort
zone. No worries of judgement passed on myself nor
the others that join me. No deeper could I fall into the
well of despair.
Darkness is comforting. Like a vampire I stay out at night
and hide away from the light. Hiding in places most wouldn’t
dare to enter. Shadows of those who are like me appear as
the night transpires. Normalcy for me is chaos. The Irreputable slumber from life on life’s terms.
I’m a beggar, a poet, a singer to those who are nothing.
I am the queen to my court of lost souls. I am important to
those who have live in my world.. Morally and spiritually
bankrupt. I lead my court in tales of woe. We teach tricks
of the trade to each other. We’ve created a family. The
streets are our Great Room where we convene.
One may wonder how we came to this place. Who chooses
to live on streets and beg for need. Who chooses to chase a
feeling that will never be found again. Lovers of numbing
ourselves. Emotion can not penetrate despair. It is a choice
we’ve made. It’s is the unwillingness to join the living.
You see us in darkness and shadows. You see us on curbs
with false smiles and big dreams. You pass us and are
thankful for comfort or family.
But for the Grace of God go I.
Grace is given to those who earn it. I wander.
I excuse opportunity and bow out of responsibility.
I am a grain of sand. Waiting to be washed away with
the tide. I welcome it.
I sit on the curb amidst the foul smelling streets.