Camping on the Streets

06/06/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

I’d always loved camping.

We’d pitch a tent and build a fire,

Toast marshmallows and eat baked beans

Cooked under the stars each night.

 

This isn’t like that.

There’s no tend to pitch around here.

Even if we had one,

How do you peg it to the concrete path?

 

There is sometimes a fire.

Burning rubbish we’ve collected

That’s overflowed from bins

Or people have dropped in the gutter.

 

I can’t remember the last time

I actually had marshmallows.

My last meal was three weeks ago.

Yesterday I had discarded crusts.

 

I’m still under the stars.

Those immutable lights in the sky,

Shining down on my unclean self

Cleaning only my soul.

 

It wasn’t always like this.

At first, we slept in spare beds

And on couches of friends

Whose parents knew us.

 

There’s only so long you can stay,

No matter how good a friend they are

Before you start to become a burden

And have to move on to the next one.

 

Until one day, there’s no one left –

No spare beds left to crash in

No couches left to surf –

And you don’t know where to go.

 

We can’t go home –

That doesn’t exist anymore.

Relatives won’t take us

Because we broke our father’s heart.

 

I don’t know how that works

That they’d put him ahead of us

After he broke our mother’s spirit

And too many bones to count.

 

I don’t know if she’s in a better place,

Hell can’t be any worse than where we were.

But she didn’t take us with her,

She only left her screams.

 

They system couldn’t help us,

We were too old, to used, too broken.

And society wouldn’t help us,

Not in any meaningful way.

 

It’s not too bad in the summer,

As long as it doesn’t rain.

People seem to be in a better mood

And they’re more open to giving.

 

It might be only a few coins each day

But more than I had to be begin with.

That day I might get a sandwich

That I can share with my family.

 

In summer the shelters are less full,

You can maybe get a bed for a change.

Even just a warm shower

Is better than standing in the rain.

 

I know people who have been here

Since they were the same age as me,

And now they’re in their min-forties

But looking eighty instead.

 

I’ve dragged myself into the city

To see if I can’t get some soup.

The suburbs are infinitely safer

But the resources don’t stretch than far.

 

I’ve got an appointment tomorrow

To see if I can’t get some work

But who’d hire someone like me

Who hasn’t even got a fixed abode?

 

I don’t want to live on the streets.

I don’t want to be out there tonight.

I don’t want to fear every footstep

That passes me as I try to sleep.

 

Maybe tomorrow will change my life,

I’m not hold my breath that it will,

But if I can get myself out of this cycle

Then maybe I have a chance.

 

I just want to be seen as a person

Not just a number or even a statistic.

I want to be given a chance at life

Rather than this poor excuse for existence.

 

I am more than one of 116 thousand

Who are homeless in this country this year.

And so are those thousands of people

Who are so often abused and maligned.

 

I am more than one of 8 thousand

Who share this concrete jungle each night

And so are the men and the women

You step over in your rush to work.

 

I am more than a face for your pamphlet

That you stick on the fridge to remind you

That you won this lottery called life

But it all could be gone in a flash.