"NoWhere People" one "crazy" ladies homeless experiences, By: M.E.

Hennessey on ‘they breath,

As the hustle for more continues-

Welcome oblivion – Although brief…

Some find it in ‘Crack’

Others in the lifestyle…

Striving…

Fighting everyone and everything has lost it’s meaning

When the results are always the same

“Incomprehensible demoralization”

To such a degree, most people don’t have the depth of character to understand

Why and how we are where we are on our journey down God’s path.

Especially those guilty of “contempt prior to investigation”

Assumptions made about the ‘type’ of person that ‘chooses’ to be homeless-

But then aren’t we all accountable to some extent, even those of us who ‘know better?’

When it comes to ‘those street people,’ bums, losers, untouchable…

Wouldn’t you rather ignore ‘them’ hoping against hope they’ll leave you alone?

Just GO AWAY! Damn it…

Throw them a meager ration of pennies so that they may use the ‘phone.’

When it’s obvious to all that there is no one – nowhere who will hear us call.

Filthy clothes tattered and worn,

Washed too many times until the material is held together by a few thin stands of hope.

Unkept hair, dreads without the salon touch, jack o lantern smiles

Make us invisible as you cross the street to escape the smell and our downcast eyes…

Aimless shuffle of futility…

Incoherent slurring of exhaustion…

Pale, frail, shivering in the winter,

Stench of sweat in the summer

Hunger is all Seasons.

Starved for the warmth of human kindness,

In a world where a pocketful of change and a cigarette can be a moment’s respite.

Death grip on street Cadillac’s full of precious cargo

So that bedrolls don’t vanish in a puff of smoke.

Forever “moving right along” with security at our back,

Pain and sickness ignored until it’s cleaned up – or not…Just keep walking to nowhere.

If God promised to feed the lowliest sparrow,

Then why am I rifling thru this garbage can begging for scraps?

Looting wealthy ashtrays for carefully horded discarded butts.

Ice-cold water, nectar of the gods, is doled out sparingly

A quarter for the cup

and if the attendant feels magnanimous today

he may spare the pitying glance or even worse the distasteful glare.

Cleanliness becomes a childhood dream

As the aroma of dust and urine infiltrate every fiber of hair, skin, cloths…

Everyday I’m scared, as more of us disappear and No One…

Not even God cares.

If these are His ‘footprints’ then why are my feet swollen and bloody?