There’s so much shame surrounding this character. The feeling of constant judgement for even bearing a thought that might be misconstrued as betrayal or even worse, confidence. When she was a little girl, she wrote a paper and submitted it not even thinking that the teacher would see it and realize her writings would tug on her heartstrings and have her take the little girl under her wing. Remembering that story was a cry for help and the living conditions at the time were unsuitable for even a homeless man to sleep next to a dumpster and he’d be crowned the cleanest man in town. The smells, the filth and just like as if he lived in the dumpster and it piled and piled and piled and no trash man ever came, the trash was never paid, and it piled and piled. You see, being from a broken home where hearts know nothing past a minutes endurance of not having the energy and striving to keep a house afloat when you’re so young because the air is thick with the absence of humility and refusal to be defined by anything other than mistakes… That man chose to be homeless… that character made him a better man. The little girl cries herself to sleep every night and he sleeps with the creepy crawlies that the girl has befriended as faint cries of a small baby and the screams of an old man haunt her sleep. She buries herself in her books, tries to be a good girl at school and the homeless man watches over her and makes sure that pile doesn’t cave in. He laughs when the important ones throw their green paper at them finds the shade of a tree and stares at the stars… He had a piece of fruit today and a cup of water, read a book and listened to music, but the terror in the little girls eyes struck him. He knew about his pile and could see the world setting her up for the same pile, but nothing could be done… She has bites on her body and pancake stains on her oversized T-shirt… When she is an adult, she grows hatred for big oversized T-shirts… The baby’s not crying, but who ever cared to hear these stories??? She hands him a fruit she brought along with her on her way to school and has no idea how she’s getting home today… What’s a home anyways… That homeless man looks so happy in the shade of that tree… The air reeks of fish and feces by the dumpster… Why won’t anyone help him or even see how hard he is working to keep a boat afloat that has no patches? Is he a fisherman? Is he someone that used to matter? But to whom? The little girls teachers, how did anyone not notice how she struggled? Why didn’t anyone care? Instead they shoved her along and her smile shone like the most lovely sight you ever did see. Just like the homeless man, she was to figure out a world that didn’t want her. Making friends with caterpillars… Staying out of the way. Always in the way and always forgotten, but never lost.

A society of instant gratification has taken their lives from them… Their ability to live hindered by selfish gain and indifference. The day they curse themselves with the same, they will have truly lost their souls. Godspeed, some people still believe in miracles… The kind that hurt if only for to heal the wound that is as common as a great pestilence driven to devour all the filth and maybe flourish and bring life and abundance in abounds of happiness and fortitude. Godspeed.

The great evil in the lie foretold…

The sound of commerce and the rest of us are the filth. Sorely subdued and choosing empty space and time to get a chance of winning the best way to be free. Freedom being within and not without…

I know nothing.


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