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
Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2015
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