The Homeless Love Song By Alan This poem comes to me from a homeless man I met in Sacramento. This man was named Derek, and he is to this day one of the nicest people I have ever met. He told me a story of how he became homeless, and I will always remember his story, for it is one of the saddest ones I have ever heard. Although Derek was homeless, greasy, and dirty, when he talked you could see the normal side to him that used to be. I remember thinking this man was once a really good-looking man, for now he was old, weathered, and ugly. He is the man that made me think beyond the stereotypes, and opened my eyes to a reality that is unimaginable to the normal person. You may have to read it a few times to fully understand it. I wrote this poem from Derek's perspective.
The street is cold, dark, and bare.
I sit on the side of it with an emotionless stare.
I think about all the problems in the world.
Then I get up and think; "why the fuck should I care?"
I have problems of my own.
Have to get my life out of the red zone.
Need to see if there's some food in this trash.
In the back of a restaurant singing, "give the doggy a bone."
Maybe I should be singing a different song.
The one about making your long life not so long.
The one about breaking in and stealing all of your shit.
But why would I?
I have no place to keep it.
The streets are lonely, and it fucks with your head.
The mental debates about being alive or dead.
Why am I here?
What good am I doing?
This mindless itch.
Knowing when I die, this world would return to normal without a glitch.
The fear of being good for nothing, and the thought of being nothing good.
Knowing all of these people have me misunderstood.
I had a life once; I was just like you.
I had a house, job, and did the normal shit people do.
One day someone tells me "this lifestyle is over, hope there are no grudges.
"Now I have all of you fucking people looking at me like judges.
Look, I lost my means to take care of myself.
I am a lost book, and this world is my shelf.
I am freezing cold, hungry, drinking milk that is sour.
Coughing, spitting, dying by the hour.
Wondering where life took a wrong turn.
I wish I had some gas, I would light up this trashcan, and watch it burn.
What stops me from going insane?
Freaking out and causing harm with a great deal of pain.
It's the thought of when I was a little boy.
My world was good.
The smallest of things brought me joy.
I remember making a promise to myself way back then.
A promise I would never hurt anyone no matter when.
I grew up with morals, values, and respect for everyone.
Now my own parents wouldn't want me as a son.
So who is this god that everyone has been telling me about?
I used to believe, but now I doubt.
I have been cursed by Satan, and all of his demons.
Why wont these voices in my head quit screaming?
I am just going to sit here and let the time go by.
Watch the people stroll, the streets move, and wait to die.
Before I go I have something I want to say.
I was not born like this; society has made me this way.
I speak the truth only when I dare.
This street is lonely, cold, dark, and bare…
This peom was written by my really good friend Alan. It's this sort of thing that I'm talking about We are only as strong as our weakest link. We all should be pulling each other up. One would think. That would only make you stronger. Think about it. Peace Alan this poem is POWER!
By: Alan
