The Real Me

Why won't they stop and talk me I used to be of their kind and style Why won't they reach out and touch me If only to share a smile. I used to be in their circus I cruised the morning madness each day Trying desperately to keep up with the Joneses Until the bank swept it all away . Am I a different man inside now That I'm no longer in their game And those I thought my closest friends They no longer treat me the same. I've never begged for food before It brings such a sense of shame But now it's a matter of survival Not how it affects my name. I see myself now in the passers-by I see how I used to be Perhaps God lead me to this point To find the real me. For the Homeless