On Seeing Beyond Ourselves

This one’s for the street kids
The runaways and the throwaways
The queer kids and the trans kids
and the druggie kids with empty eyes
who can’t go home even if they wanted to
The travelling kids, the hitchhikers
who no one will stop for
The buskers and the panhandlers
staring at empty streets

homeless boy 1860

This one’s for the homeless
who have no place to shelter
The street people
The cold and hungry people
The ones with no soap
No running water
No take out or delivery
The ones with bad lungs
and diabetes and rotten livers
and damaged skin
who already saw friends die

This one’s for the buskers
and the living statues
and the people in costume
asking a fiver for a selfie
The ones who found
a way to survive
that worked for them
Who used their creativity
to find a way
Who stare at empty streets
with empty pockets
Knowing no government program
will compensate them

This one’s for the refugees
The ones in camps with
bombed out homelands
or drought or flood
behind them
and nothing in front
The ones who have no soap
and carry their water
The ones raising
their kids in tents
with nothing but fabric walls
separating them
from their neighbors
The ones who did
the best they could
and now they’ll see more death

I see you
I hear you

I fear for you more
than I fear for myself

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