“The loneliness of being homeless and everyone that passes by you either looks away or gives you a disgusting look.”

I watch the world with weary eyes  
From benches cold and streets unkind,  
Each soul that hurries quickly by  
Refusing even glance or sign.  

Their faces shudder, lips compressed,  
They flinch at rags and tangled hair—  
A ghost among the well-dressed rest,  
Invisible, and raw, and bare.  

I am the shadow on the curb,  
A whisper lost in city hum,  
My stories—longing to be heard—  
Are drowned by footsteps as they come.  

Sometimes a gaze will meet my own,  
But sour, sharp, or swiftly turned,  
Reminding me I’m here alone,  
A lesson taught but never learned.  

Yet underneath these layers worn,  
A heart still hopes that things may change—  
That kindness, even softly born,  
Would make the world feel less estranged.  

So I collect the fading light  
Of each withheld or bitter glance,  
Dream silently for warmth at night  
And for tomorrow’s second chance.

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