Messy hair, three pairs of jeans.
Usually dressed like those kids with the label, ‘scene’.
He walked on the streets.
People around say he’s some sort of creep.
He had a dollar store bag with a tad of cash.
He had that little glass mirror he broke when he was mad.
He had that old blanket from when he was an even younger lad.
He even had a used tissue from when he was sad.
Those jeans stuffed in with the rest of his junk.
That time a man offered help, and put his belongings in his car’s trunk.
That smell, ya know? Without being bathed, a bad funk.
He watches the neighbor kids play ball, and wow. The tall kid made another slam dunk.
And he watched them, with such eager eyes.
As that want to play arrived, he began to fantasize.
As this younger short boy notices him acting like a professional spy.
He simply says, “Who is that?” “Who, that guy?”
“I can’t say his name right.”, one says with an awkward smile.
“Me neither. But he’s too short to play ball. He ain’t the right size.”
Too Short.
Can’t play on the court.
Too this.
He can’t make the basket have a ‘swish’.
Too that.
He’s just another stray cat.
Will I ever be just perfect?
Too much or too much of nothin’?
Man, aren’t they just somethin’?
They thinking I have no home.
They think I’m all alone.
But I have me, and my soul.
And I heard that’ll take me far.
For I have some, “Golden heart”.
At least that’s what mum said when I was her, ‘work of art’.
But she thinks I’m garbage now.
That future school dropout clown.
But as I walk around town,
I’ve found that I want a nice, firm life.
So, I will graduate.
And celebrate.
And with just a small tent for a home, I’d appreciate.
Unlike most people today.
If you want to know what it’s like to be homeless,
just think about being judged for having no choices.
