r a i n s t o r m s . a n d . s t r e e t . l i f e

the storm is...
writhing in an eternity of homelessness and hopelessness
i sit outside waiting for my ride and a man comes up
and asks if i am the person right by the gate
who sleeps every evening under the crate
upon which i am sitting
and has no belongings except those hidden
behind a box 
i answer no, she's not me
as my throat fills with rocks and i gasp
on the words i'm sorry, wait a second
i'm new in this town and i really don't know
what's supposed to go down
elusive confusive times and meeting places
wading around in a sea of strange faces
with every last look peeling off your skin
and feeling you cook outside and within
under their gaze in a misty gray haze of
minority culture outlawed and repulsive
when your team has lost but Breanne plays
at any cost
thank you for that.
it bestowed honor upon her and you but i'm
freezing here going through what i go through
my backpack is soaked and i choke
and i choke
the only thing shielding me from the 
ice cubes of rain is a maroon onelove sweatshirt
and the thought of my pain
- or lack thereof.
"does nobody love me?"
as i proclaim
...over now.






Copyright © March 12, 1999 Angel Artistries. All rights reserved.