“I’ve come far enough… Let me rest my weary bones and my heavy eyes. I’ve climbed too far, for my feet are raw and sore.”

I muttur this to myself as I become my only friend again tonight.

Although I sleep alone holding myself for comfort, somehow my arms seem to wrap around my trembling body tighter. My breathes seem fuller, the air seems warmer, the moon shines brighter.

It appears I have given up to those who watch me curled on the sidewalk from their cars as they whizz by. I feel the cold gaze of strangers staring at me silently with their judgement while shuffling past. Occasionally I hear a curious child ask “is he ok?” before getting hurried away by their parents speaking under their breath in hushed tones to not disturb the ugly monster they see.

It is not their eyes that concerns me, for it is not their money I seek. My body lets out a much needed shudder to release built up tension as I open my arms and legs into a spread eagle position while laying on a California King of cardboard boxes.

My hair is overgrown, my clothes are stained, and everything I own is in the backpack my head lays upon. My “friends”, my “family, “myself” have abandoned me long ago. They left me to die. I’ve been left to my own devices for so long where I now no longer know my name, since nobody cares to ask. Some people give me money, some people give me prayers, but most people give me disgust.

Money has proven helpful for a new pair of shoes, fresh socks or underwear, a hot meal, or buying a shower from a gym somewhere; I seem to never have enough so I take what I am given and have gotten quite good at finding happiness with quarters. I’ve found prayers are more for the one saying it than for me. It is a “deed of good will” if you will. I imagine it helps them rest that night as they place their head upon a pillow and say to their “God” how they helped a homeless man. Those prayers do little to stop the biting cold, or the blisters I get from the hot pavement. Looks for anger, frustration, and even hate is what I get the most of. It is in these looks that I now find enjoyment and hope for in their eyes I find the REAL people. Although their emotions are misguided, I still see human beings alive inside of the shells they drag around.

When I look at these people I see an ancient, elegantly crafted, beautifully intricate machine which has been abandoned. since the inspector of was distracted by a different one! The owner of this piece of art decided to invest into another that looked easier to fix, or one that was bigger and appeared to have even more gradeur than their own. Some spend years, other spend their entire lives working on this other piece of equipment, never realizing that it is not meant to be fixed by them. Their tools will never work. If they go out to get a new set of wrenches, the bolts have turned to screws. When they arrive with all the types of screwdrivers in the world, they now find nails.

Most people keep looking for the tools to fix these other pieces of equipment without seeing the beauty that is their own gears. Once we look down into our hearts, bodies, and souls with that same passion, and eagerness to fix as we had for another’s, we find that all the tools are within arms reach and the once tangled mess begins to tick once again.

It is this “once again” that I get with people’s anger they glare at me. Their hate gives me hope. Hope there is still a human who wants more then to is push around their bag of bones Hope there is a soul crying for love that is still trapped within that cage. Hope there is more than hate.

I believe in Hate. I believe in You.

Hope will die with Hate and that is a funeral I never hope to attend.

#LiveItForNow