Sometimes I wish I was invisible.
Cause people just don’t care. They just look. They just stare. No one utters a word! I feel absurd.
I know they judge me because I smell of urine, feces and infection. I’m a derelict all haggard and disheveled. I too hate my own relection.
It wasnt always this way. I had a family and a home. I lost it all for going out to roam. Liquor, drugs and seeking prostitutes were my vices. Now my friends are only the lices. How I wish I could go back in time! But I can’t! Maybe I just need to dissapear.
Why are there so many homeless people? Why is there always someone on the train or in the street asking for food or asking for money? Is it always their fault? They stink up the trains. They interrupt our reading. Should they just disappear? Could it ever happen to us? Is it mental illness? Was it their choices that closed doors? I decided to ask.
Stoner as he called himself was only 25. Very attractive if you bathed and clothed him. He told me he was a homosexual. He told his parents at age 16 and he was kicked out the house. They were very religious. He fell into depression and living on the streets wasn’t easy. He was taken in by an older man that prostituted him out in exchange for room and board. He had no choice.
He started begging for money and bought drugs from wherever he could get them. He was 19 and looked older. He needed to numb his feelings. He detested those aggressive men. Then one day he tried to escape and was beaten so badly landing him in the hospital.
One of the nurses told him that God loved him. He was pissed off. His parents told him God had no place for his kind. What God was she taking about?
The hospital gave him money when they discharged him and the kind nurse drove him to the bus depot. She gave him money from her own purse too. He came to NYC on a Greyhound bus. His home and his own town were full of bad memories.
We spoke for almost one hour and I actually had no money to give him so we prayed. We prayed for his parents to have softer hearts. He agreed to enter a drug rehab center to get clean. God loves us all. God is forgiving. I wanted to cry but I held back the tears.
Happy to say that the last time I spoke with him he was clean and living in a small apartment. He was still asking for money but now by playing a guitar and singing. He no longer smelled but still had scars on his face from when he was beaten up. He and his dad were now talking. His mom had passed. He told me he realized God had always been around him.
It’s true everyone has a back story. Perhaps we don’t have to give them money. But please let’s pray for them. Love and prayer doesn’t cost a dime. Prayer does work if we believe. Do you believe?
I saw you and sensed it had to be you.
Your look quite different but your soul still imbues.
I long for the closeness I know we’ve shared.
We just met so I know you’re scared.
You don’t remember me but I’m not done
For I long for our bodies to be meshed as one.
If I hug you I’ll never stop
If I kiss you it’ll be over the top
I know in your body our memories lie dormant
I know in your heart also lies some remnant
Of us being a pair,
Of all the love we did share.
So please don’t walk away just yet.
We aren’t strangers although we just met.
So hug me, kiss me, then take me!
I want to awaken in you our memory.
Have you ever met someone and felt like you already knew them? Have you ever kissed someone for the first time yet it felt so familiar? Their loudness doesn’t bother you and neither does their silence. You are not with them yet you feel calm because their presence is felt wherever you go. It is a grand feeling indeed. Has this ever happened to you?
I am a paper that has seen its share of stories being written. Some ended shortly, some ended happy, and some sadly. But the worst kind of story ever written is the one that never was written. As a paper I wonder if the pen perhaps had no more ink left to write.
I am a paper white as can be. Is your pen able to write on me?
Namaste my pretty people. Thank you so much for reading my blog. I once was asked why I write. I write because I love writing and because it connects me with beautiful people in this world. We all have voices that need to be heard. We all have messages for this world that seems to be falling apart day by day. Our writing can help motivate, and cultivate a brighter tomorrow. Keep writing.