You laugh,
And make jokes
At my clothes, and my hair.
You point and accuse.
You turn your back
On a street kid,
Like me.
I lie under a bridge
When it gets dark and cold.
I don't close my eyes,
I don't dare.
My hands are dirty,
My eyes are tired,
But my soul is clean.
You push me
To the ground,
And kick dirt in my face.
You take away my pride,
And all that I have.
You wont help to his feet
A "fag-boy"
Like me.
I live in discrace,
Ashamed of myself.
Lifes not worth to live,
Not for me
Because of you.
My hands are dirty,
My eyes are tired,
But my soul is clean.
You call me a whore,
And accuse me of sins.
Abandoned by you,
And hope too
It seems
For a Mother
Like me.
I'm lost,
And I'm frightened.
I've nowhere to go.
Nowhere to turn,
I'm alone in the world.
My hands are dirty,
My eyes are tired,
But my soul is clean.
What about you??
Whose hands are clean,
And sleeps in feathered bed??
You,
Who shakes his head,
Taunts,
And jeers,
Turns away??
What of your soul??
Your soul is held
Firm in fates' grasp.
Innocent are we,
Who've comitted no crime.
You'll pay your price,
If it be Devine will
In after years.
-Kat 6/9/99