This year she wasn't thankful for everyone's presence.
This year she wasn’t thankful for everyone’s presence.
She used to spend millions of days, thousands of weeks and hundreds of months yearning for someone’s company.
She used to always think of coincidental incidents that might lead to a ‘surprise’ collision between others and her path.
Her life used to be like a copy of the MX, free for all to read, but once the news were made known and the crosswords has been completed she was left to be skimmed or stared at by another stranger.
She hoped that one day, that a train passenger might unknowingly pick her up and take her home.
The flickering lights of the dim streets along with the wrath of the summer heat that brought the foul stench of the sewerage above the ground was just not a part of fortunate kid’s way of life but to her it was ‘home’.
To others she’s known simply as a beggar, a junkie, a hobo, a homeless person or a street dweller. No one knew her name; no one made the effort to find out either.
She only knows herself as what society knows her and she doesn’t bother to add onto that, since every action or appeal she does is always denigrated by the public.
Year after year she sees people like her go to waste, not that they’re of any use anyway, when she see’s the great talent of some of her kind, and she can’t help but feel angered and hate the ignorance of those around her.
Yellow has never stood out so much.
Got lost yesterday, never had a better day.
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