I've been waking up to ceilings; stucco stares so unfamiliarly down at me. As I watch these cars shuffle around and stack this deck with their routines, I can't help but think of what I meant to say to you: "Could you understand that I just wasn't in control of mine?"
The kids that pace these streets and my incidental friends: they're not so different. We're not so different. I can tell they're haunted by the same things that haunted my days of crisis, but I had no support.
Now I've learned to live and meet demands just like we did when back in school. I'm nothing new but my life has been changed by circumstance; textbooks replaced with dumpster dives and crisis shelter rules.
I'm not asking for forgiveness as I've done you no wrong. I just want to let you know there is no security in guarding yourself from me or your thoughts on poverty.
The rug they've pulled right over me sits underneath your feet.
I just want to let you know there is no security in building up these walls to get away from me.