melissaahowells
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they bloom like mushrooms
in the Spring and seem to take over everything but they're people people like you and me somebody's children someone's older babies they are problems called eyesores all and no one cares to hear their calls voiceless useless eaters when they can find a scrap dumped into this heap of earth called planet have you ever roamed had no bed to lie in no safe place to call your own be pushed around some then some more constantly turned on and turned the cheek on as if you'd be ignored and perhaps were invisible this is a country divisible along the lines of the haves and the haves some more five schmucks in this world own it all and want to keep it all to themselves the key, the lock the very store which might nourish us all enough to more than just get by I wonder what does God see when he looks down I wonder why the well-off don't see when they look around I think I believe they are gluttonously greedy deaf, mute and blind and forever carrying the gavel in their mind with their life and death judgements those born on third base thinking somehow they'd hit the home run what a mess you've made of this world are you happy with your meager contributions your thoughtless accomplishments is there enough stuffed into your tight little pockets I hope the villagers gather from their little tumbling down fragile tent towns and the bulk of us good people and run you monsters out of town very rough draft written directly to the page my city has become a stage for this kind of transition transitory existence and big money venture capitalists billionaires interests colliding...and the resulting uglieness and hopelessness left in its wake. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS WORK/RANT/POEM AND ALSO FOR THIS AUTHOR/WRITER MELISSA A HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD 11AM PST October 29 2017. IN 1984 I WAS HOMELESS RIGHT OUT OF COLLEGE, DUE TO WHATEVER UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES ALONE, FRAGILE OCCASIONALLY COUCH SURFING BUT MOSTLY LIVING ON THE ROUGH, I USED FAST FOOD RESTAURANT WASHROOMS EACH MORNING TO GET READY FOR WORK. I RECALL A HIGHLY STRESSFUL TIME IN MY LIFE. A SORT OF SURREALNESS. A SEPARATENESS. A FEELING OF INVISIBILITY IN THE OPEN. I CAN ONLY BEGIN TO IMAGINE WHAT THE HOMELESS FOLKS FEEL TODAY BEING TOLD THEY ARE A PROBLEM AND NOT PEOPLE. Vote for this poem |
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