homelessness
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Urban Camping
I reported in newsprint that rubs off on sweaty, swollen fingertips
when the sister city down the highway
passed their own ordinance;
I’m exhausted by the grief
And drained by this place
This place that once held promise
This world that once had values
Or perhaps it never did
Peace and blessings
Mr MVP Show-homelessness in the city of Bridgeport, under the bridge
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The tears in your eyes are like steaming rocks on mine.
I cannot tear myself away from what you are feeling, it is too painful and I wish it was I who was suffering.
Hill homes and cars and a place in front,
we run a race I lost at birth
with house wheels and buses.
I cross the line
to stand in dingy dark, cast by prestige.
There is much that I wish that I didn't
remember-
But memory, being as it is I cannot forget.
And so, counselors, whether benevolent and sincere
or therapy- cognitive, behavioural or
otherwise
Metal rings placed
chains laced
around my
hands, legs, feet and waist.
How many times will I let this happen?
How many times can I let my family
be disgraced?
You take my breath away, my dear
No one else has managed such a feat
I am not easily impressed, yet my jaw is in your ocean
You know when you wake up in the middle of the night and you choose to not wear your glasses?
He shivers in the warm summer light
arms wrapped round rocking body
legs crossed against hard red brick pavement
black padded hoodie cowls
thank you
for glancing at me
then looking away
like you didn’t see me
thank you
for kicking me
I look up at the night sky,through a windshield.The deep, indigo sky, andI look to the stars,
each a person somewhere in the world.Are they lookingup at these same stars,this same sky, through
To
The old man in the wheel chair at the art gallery last month,
You said I was in your way, and then you called me ignorant,
And I wanted to say I'm sorry,
But I knew my words did not make up for it.
Homeless
Looks so different in the eyes of strangers
No one ever tells you homeless looks like attention
from the eyes and bodies of strangers
Body after body, night after night.
Dear Beautiful:
From then until now
Your scars still show
Your tears are dried
and when people speak
it hurts.
Dear Beautiful:
You think you are so unnatractive
Future generations,
Hear me loud and clear when I say this:
Please don't be selfish,
Don't dismiss
The pain of others, nor their anguish.
Don't dismiss
The needs of the homeless
"You don't care. You're so unfair!"
I slam the door, hit the stairs,
hit the biting winter air,
I've done so much for her. What about me?
I storm down the street
it's starting to sleet.
A wax sky drips over a sidewalk corner
Illuminated by a burning-wick sun
As I smile at the old men living there,
Baked and leathery and meaning everything to nothing
Eugene can be an amazing place,
but we have a high transient population
and the criminalization of poverty continues.
With laws like the one forbidding dogs downtown,
"no backpack" store policies
They call me "Homeless" but don't care to ask my name.I prefer "Street Dweller" 'cause the streets are my home.
When I say "homeless," what do you see?
Someone dressed in dirty clothes, out on the street?
Someone with a cup, asking for change so they can eat?
Someone who struggles to get back on their feet?
A night in the city
T'was when the story began,
After a young girl sought
To buy her mother a fan.
The night was shining,
Though with limited light,
And could still clearly see
We the people
We the people divided
We the people alienated
We the varied
We the broken.
We who break each other down
and hide behind the pieces.
We who have bled,
Where I'm From I had no house, car or mom,
Where I'm From I had to ration my food,
Where I'm From holding a sign that displayed "God Bless All" and "I am hungry, will do anything for help" was my every day job,
How can we say
we live in the land of the free
while the homes of the brave
are being taken away
How can we ignore
the illness and poverty
suffered so immensely
America is pretty great
that I will admit.
Freedom, justice, liberty
We're all entitled to it.
But America is changeable.
We need some help, in fact.
There are many problems we face here.
you can runbut you cant hidethe Rules of societyi refuse to abidewhat would you expectwith parents like Bonnie an Clyde
O say can you see
Just how far we’ve come.
The injustice in our country
Is a battle far from won.
People line the streets
What’s the first thing you think of
When you hear America?
Is it freedom?
Or do you think of corruption?
They say it’s the home of the free
What would you do if this happened to you?
Wake up in a room with no one else left to hold
With no one but yourself and these thoughts all alone
The once smooth sandstone walls,Now withered with bullet holes, Concrete structures in ruins,A grey ash covering the ground like snow. The streets that once thronged with life,Now silent, stripped like a flesh from a skeleton.Left of the marketpla
Snot in my nose, im feeling young
but still carry the love for the downtown flow and the downtown cold,
the city has a charm
early morning hustle
well alarmed and prepared to cause trouble, it was nothing
Once I found a coffee shop overlooked by a thousand Others.
Through the glass, a thousand Others I ignored back.
The sky carried dark clouds on its back.
Should I be more conscious
of the rough brick pressing up
against my back?
Is my insignificance rooted
solely in the pavement of
downtown Corvallis?
Warm hello's can't pierce such
You see them everywhere, yet they are no where
Your mother tells you "dont go over there"
As a child you were taught "that happens when you dont pay attention in class."
Not a good thing
When one lives in poverty
Situations are often dreary
While in a state of uncertainty
There are dark clouds
That appear in the sky
Nothing but somber moments
The winter rain at a driving pelt
Did batter the city park
And on a bench sat a city beggar
Far past the hour of dark
He sat and with a mighty shiver
Groaned deep from the outer cold
cold hard concrete
and nothing but the clothes
on your back
for a mother
your wits keep you alive
because
you've outgrown
couchsurfing;
the shelters are full
Dear little black girl,
You are not so much little but your heart is the same,
broken.
The lines on her face
They be storytellers
Each with their own voice
A wrinkle, a page
Providing a resting place for the dust of the day
Hidden among the sun-taxed maculas
And if you ask her
I am a girl, I think
Sucking on the fingers of the sun and
Crossing my eyes to protect my soul from demons
I am the child of lux conception, I think
The flash of HD illumination lighting my way into
The streets are no place for anyone
For there is nothing but trouble
People have become a shell
Life for them is pure hell
Days come and go
There sadly, is nothing but darkness
Everything is a mystery
Pieces of glass sleep upon my bed 'you made your bed, you lie in it' I walk down a hall to our shelter. With a dog's nose I smell the air. Sickly sweet, it slows me. With a cat's eyes I look there. Painfully real, it shows me. With a slow child's
Pieces of glass sleep upon my bed'you made your bed, you lie in it'I walk down a hall to our shelter.With a dog's nose I smell the air.Sickly sweet, it slows me.With a cat's eyes I look there.Painfully real, it shows me.With a slow child's feet I
She is life.
Her eyes glazed tired, a tired that seeps through her bones,
hunched her shoulders,redden her eyes .
everyday, every night, she thinks of survival.
where will I find a place to sleep?
A girl sits on a bench,
A boy lies on the street,
A baby cries in a dumpster,
These children are everywhere.
They walk the streets of London
And crawl along the Hudson.
The boy, thrown out at six,
The wind blows cold outside,
The sun is flickering out.
The grass grows dry and crumbles down
Around the big blue tent.
Two copper pennies
Clink in a jar.
It's not enough for food.
Not enough to go far.
Your empty stomach
Curves like those coins.
Mirror, spotted with age and time. Rust begins to spread, but you see yourself just fine.
I just want to spend more of my life loving.more of it giving.I want to live my life withan outstretched hand,want my treasured memories to be full ofsmiles from people I have fed.
I am homeless though I have a home.
I have never spent a night at my permanent address.
It is my mom’s house, but not my home.
I am homeless though I have a home.
I have a room on campus;
I see a man upon the street,
Dressed in rags, just nothing neat,
And so I pull him to his feet
And give my greatest-ever greet.
He smiles, hollow in his eyes,
I would be the one who cries,
When you no longer have shelter, you no longer feel safe.
As the cold bites you, all you can say is what did I do?
All you can feel is the hunger, seemingly endless.
And all those people just stare at you
I remember a time when I was scared of them
I never went to close to them
I prejudged them, because I didn't know who they were
I would just look at them from afar
A Cent More
"Spare some change"
so common a phrase
among those sitting on the sidewalk
Who are they?
They are the poor
Cold hands
Empty eyes
Wandering up and down the streets tonight
"Excuse me, Miss, where are you going?"
"I'm going home"
Wherever that is
They are the people who walk the streets at night looking for shelter.
They are the people who go up to you and ask for money, just to buy food.
But do we really notice them?
Never have I thought it was easy, but I have fought my evil demons
Throughout leaving home at a 18, biggest regret, but enjoying the challenges
Obstacles have battled me on my dark days, I came out shining
Hear me out, he said
And as the tears drip down my face
My energy begin depleting
This happens to over one in 45 people
Fear NOT for his half beaten sorrows nor the lint in his pockets.
Fear NOT for his lackadaisical manner nor his lacking of sole.
Oh, fear Not for the fool who falls on hard time or walks along cracks and smiles in the rain.
Born and bred, true blue, and loyal.
To have a hometown I would feel like a royal.
A place that I know, love, and trust.
I'd try to return; get there "or bust".
Family nearby would be a nice bonus;
I am tired
Tired of waking up at 6 AM to go to a white-washed prison where
I am taught
Not to learn
But to pass a test
Tired of hearing my dad loudly groan, "Oh really?!" when he sees a homosexual
I'm homeless
I'm lonely
I'm an alcoholic
Considered a stain upon the society
Nothing to offer,
Except my wastes and the breath exhaled from my lungs
I may not have much of anything by my name.
The homeless are viewed as uneducated,
people who lack any motivation.
The term used to describe the homeless inlclude lazy,
Wait-
Find out
The gypsy woman at the street's final destination
As she cries out for a thoroughly used but useless penny
And I ask myself why it is so hard
For but one person to sneak a glance
A few streets down
away from this perfected outer shell of blissful indulgence that we have created
lies
a city of
distorted faces,
starvation,
violence.
Cold nights, Semi-warm days
Sitting here for what seems like light years
Watching dozens and dozens just pass by
Like I’m invisible or just don’t exist
But why? Why do they proceed on?
He has dirty clothing and smells
Yet he sits on the corner and waves
There's no sign or cup
Though looks emaciated and untidy
But he doesn't beg for help
I tried to give him a twenty
A never ending line of bills
Needing to be paid at the end of the month
Debt is in the trash bin.
Poverty is as stifling as the Miami heat on a Summer's day.
How can I make it?
How can I go on?
On my commute to school,
A man stands there between traffic.
i am so curious, what should I do?
Why does this image have to be so graphic?
Many people don't even see him,
how rough is your life?
was it rougher than mine
did you have a mother that loved you?
cause mine abounded me
do you have food to eat?
are you a bum on the street
clothes on your back
The kids on the street
Have something to eat
With a warm fluffy bed
To cradle their head.
A nice little home
With no reason to moan
And a doll in her hand
That she calls Little Joan.
I longed to see her smile, it made her and I whole once more
Her attentive hands caressed the bed sheet violently as if she had been burned by a stove top
If I could change the world, I'd know exactly where to start
I would start with the people who could'nt find their hearts
The people who turn their heads away when someone needs help
The land of dreams
but I'm home to schemers
lost dreamers through cold
realities of life hoping just to see the day
no thought on what the future lies
only hoping to everything done by sunset
I would have $5 for ever hungry child I see on the street
Give the homeloess man that lives in the tunnel a cup of coffee each day
Cover the backs of those without a shirt
If I could change the world
The human race is full of malcontent, bigotry, ignorance, and destruction,
But the majority of you, so happy giddy people on social media,
only fill your news feeds with funny memes and meaningless statuses.
We were not the ground shakers
People will never think that
We made a difference
Poverty hunger and homelessness
It fell into our laps
And we dismissed it
All that pressure and negativity
An outcast laying low, hiding in the shadows of the Earth’s chattering inhabitan
If I could change one thing, it would be to have something more. To come home to a house with an open door. To have a place to call our own. To not sound to gready to want to have a home.
“Hey Ella! Nice to meet you! Where are you from, what do you do?”
Where is easy. What is hard.
What do I do?
I hold her hand when she says “Ella my stomach hurts”
She’s 14, and she’s four months
Change is something that should be seen more around the world. I grow up seeing poor people but was completely clueless why they did not have a home.
Where can I call home
Once lost, is gone
A spider web
A gentle spider spinning
Spinning, spinning -- its delicate web
To the top of the building
Its Destination
A dollar, a dime a minute
Time is money honey, where'd you sleep last night?
A stranger's bed is warmer
Than the cold, hard street, she says,
Every foot that walks on by
Might as well be a kick in the face
There are people with no homes,
These people need it more.
If I had money I would give it to them,
Why would I spend it all on me when people out there need it more?
These people didn't choose to be like this,
Everywhere I go, i see a homeless person or two
Living on the streets like animals in the zoo
How can the government let people live like this
They are people too and deserve better
I walk by a man on the side of the road
hungry, alone, broken and cold.
Yet, somehow in my twisted self righteousness I continue to walk,
It is dark and dreary.
The sun never comes out.
I feel so wet and sticky.
Why won't this mud come out?
I know not what it is like,
to even know how to ride a bike.
I'm stuck in this house,
Feeding off dump sitesGovernment preaching about human rightsThe minds hunger now difficult to fightThe authority’s pledge I’ve learnt to reciteInsanity, poverty for eternity
A man hurling down the street
after shreddng the leg of his silk
pants in the doorway of 24 hour Green
green grocery store, looks up from his small
tragedy and nearly steps on the begging
If time were stoppable
And hypocrisy improbable
I would make you understand
Let you experience firsthand
How to wallow in self-suffering and
What it’s like to have nothing
Masked in a fantasy as my life was outside of humanity;
I was ripped away from life without a family.
The little girl on the street
knew how to keep a beat.
The little girl on the street
kept people on the edge of their seat.
The older girl on the street
couldn't make ends meet.
What is it like to wander?
To live in the cold of night,
To wake and not know what today will bring you,
To know as people pass you by they are headed home
And you?
The clang of a single coin in an empty tin
Alerts the man to sadly look down.
He fishes out the nickel
Holding it up to the light
Dreaming of what it must feel like
Like the shimmering dust of gunpowderI was wounded by his eyes like gunpowderLifeless, but with the potential to combustLike that paints the parking lotBeneath our feet
His feet were hard and calloused
Probably because he had no shoes
Torn and stained courdaroy pants
Worn for the past 2 weeks
Cracked mug found in the dumpster
Filled with loose change
I like how you tell me,in so many removed terms,
that I'm falling apart -- as if
I don't know it's wrongto savor the scent of my sweat,
or I'm not awarethat my house is the line
You see a homeless man
Standing on the corner of the road.
You see vehicles
Passing by him.
You see women and children
Scurrying to the opposite side of him.
You see the world
A dull blue hat upon his headBlack ripped gloves are on his handsLost and somewhat confusedThere's this homeless man
Out of place, he sits there.
As though ignorant
Of judgment and pity.
Dirt in the creases of his coat,
the pleats of his scarf,
the wrinkles of his face
Disappearing into his aged beard.
I saw a man sitting on a ledge. His head was low and over the edge. He held a sign with seven bold words. Not the kind often said. All was read and left a constant ringing in my head.
Some people aren't as lucky as we are.To be able to drive around in fancy cars,and to be able to have a place called home...only few have things they can call their own.
He once was a man just like you and I
He had a family and a job to get him by.
But then the war came and it all transformed
He went out and fought through the storm.
Everyday he put his life on the line.
Be strong little warrior
my mother said to me.
Things will turn up, they will get better,
Trust me, you will see.
We may be alone and afriad,
living on the dark and cold street.
Living in a world where you are alone never to know if you are going home. Life without a table to sit never to know what to do without it hunger is real you have to eat out a trashcan or two.
Learning things on my own
because I have no home
barely making it through the day
have to leave because I do not like to stay
look at my reflection in the murky water
They weren't born this way.
They had a life just like you
You can end up right were they are
Homeless, looking for a job, and a car
i
scrubbed violently at the grime on my skin
filth dirt stain soot
struggled to cleanse the grease out of my hair
dirty oily unwashed
If i could erase from this world
everything that reminded me of you,
God would have to take everything back
and start from scratch.
For the mark you left on my life
is so immense, so intricate...
I wasn't born to write,
It isn't my passion,
It isn't my calling.
I write because I need to live.
I write because of my fear.
I heave through my lungs,
Fighting a word on the page.
There comes a time when we all hold a responsibility
For what the world is and what it could be
But we often get trapped in our own reality
Concerned only with the well-being of our families
The Lost wander, searching for an answer. They grow weary and wonder, where is kindness? What is kindness? Kindness is Home.
Your life is a struggle, heavy burden can't juggle
Your hunger is like a animal don't stress no more cause god is here
Have faith that he will see you through protect and love you years and threw
I was born with ash-filled lungs,
and Mama kept some cigs in her panties.
She made me a plain dress once—
said it matched my face.
I never could understand,
why every whisper in town waft her name.
A reeking, filthy form rest rotting in the street
Crumpled bones lay askew, smashed against hard pavement
Body twisted and unrecognizable, draped over the curb
Shaky breaths no longer escaped from a mouth full of blood
There’s a homeless man
named Keith.
He lives on the bench
That belongs to the store at night.
He walks in everyday
right before we close
and buys Sprite
and red yarn.
Who am I?
I am the byproduct of "niggas" and "crackas":
caramel skin, nappy black hair and dark chocolate eyes.
I am more than meets the eye.
I am a dusty book that has yet to be opened,
I have a story to tell.
A night in the park
A house, a house
Intimidation
Trepidation
My child, my child
Innocent victim
Silent victim
Dry tears
Hopelessness looms
Eyes closed
Eyes open
Bliss
Im young, I Am Dumb,
I Grow, Then im Grown
In this short period of time i have learn much
At times like this i wonder is it enough???
At Last its my life and I Set The TOne........
RETURN TO THE HUNDRED ACRE WOOD.
IT’S NOT A DOOR PRIZE OR A GOODY BAG.
WE CAN TAKE IT AS A SIGN.
ROADSIDE BOMBS KEEP EXPLODING
POWERFUL PEOPLE INTERVENE.
THE PRIZE IS WON, BUT THE PEACE, AS, ALWAYS, ELUSIVE.
Scarlet Letter , a message to the masses
There's a killer in our sheets, so rap it up before you catch it
Or check it up before you pass it , no exceptions
To the slash list, so please avoid, the dash, on that
Homelessness, anarchy, terrorism
This is reality.
Wars, drugs, abortions
This is reality.
Global warming, corruption, debt
This is reality.
AIDS, alcohol, smoking
This is reality.
Only one answer.
Why so much killing, from north to south, from east to west?
Why so much pain that no one should endure?
Why so much sadness, we cry ourselves to sleep?
Their here, their there, their everywhere
You may not see them, but their everywhere
They need your help, though many turn their heads
If I could I would help every single person
Everyday we’re coming up with lame excuses. Throwing things here and there about why our life is useless.
We as teens don’t understand. Whether what is good or what is bad.
About life.
Another night,
The chill aches in their bones,
Trash-can fires light up the cold night,
Some dig through the garbage,
For something to eat,
Others try to find warmth,
In a box,
Need somewhere to go
Don't have anyone around
Praying someone's searching
Hoping you'll be found
*So i was walking to the bus stop and passed by a homeless man. Nothing new so I walked straight past him didn't even see him at first. They tend to blend in with the concrete here and its a shame.
They think we are subservient,
They think we do not know.
They think we are susceptible
To their cruel, ungodly show.
Please mister president,
Listen to my plea.
There are fellows like you and me
Living on the street,
They are treated like meat.
When they have hearts and souls
Like you and me,
But it seems to be,
Comfort. Family. Friends. Joy.
Sound familiar?
A bed. Warm socks. Food. Money.
Sound familiar?
...Wait. Stop.
What makes a home a home?
...What makes a home a home?
For those less fortunate.
My cologne has a striking resemblance to the city’s dirty laundry.
Only difference I cannot contain my secrets to a hamper
or wash them away with bribery.
That stench unfortunately is must.
