Shame and Hunger

Shame and hunger go hand in hand.

The cold of the streets bit through me tonight,

So I stepped into a pizza place for heat.

I've eaten less than three crackers this week

And a restaurant is no place to be,

Dirty and unshaven with no money to eat.

Walking tangos with the cold to buy me some time

But I have to keep moving, or the hunger wins.

Even thin bodies need warmth and rest.

Stepping into glowing redness the smell of pizza

Wafts over me, hot bread mingling with my soul.

Licking feverish lips I vaguely remember

Being my mother’s child, before that fat-ass moved in.

No more fresh baked goods for me.

My dad died long ago... and mom hates being alone.

I hate it too.

Courting shame pierces deeper than the smell of bread

I don’t know what’s worse;

The fact that I’m such a loser that mom picked him over me,

Or the fact that I just realized… eating is a privilege,

And not a right.

Feeding warmth into my hands in the restaurant,

My wailing stomach draws the eye of the patrons.

The harrowing stare of the cashier steals my attention.

I don’t know what put her off more, my hunger, or my shame…

They go hand in hand, ya know

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I recall being homeless with bitterness but it was no one's fault. My mother had illnesses at the time and as I was an adult, she didn't know I was homeless. I didn't want to burden her with that because it would force me to reckon with my failures and I didn't want her to take that as a poor reflection of her mothering skills. That was on me.

I'd lost my job, and the day my house went up for auction, my car broke down. I didn't have the funds to fix it. I've never done drugs, and while I drank a bit as a teenager, I never made a habit of it and in my adulthood didn't do it at all. I wasn't your typical homeless person, walking the streets due to an addiction or to fight the power or anything important like that. I was just someone down on my luck. A lady I knew at the time convinced a friend of hers to pay me to paint her house to help me out, since I had once painted houses for her professionally, so I was fortunate enough to only be homeless a couple of months. Most... are no so lucky.

If you see someone homeless, I encourage you to count your blessings. As writers, we know that every life is a story waiting to be heard. Don't let yours end with hard feelings for the ones you love and hey, if in all of that you can find it in your heart to drop a warm meal or some kind words on the homeless, please do.

Below is a video I made to go with a song I wrote about a homeless man I met when I was also on the street. At one time, it was used to raise funds for the homeless but now the song, much like I was at the time, is out there on it's own. LOL!

Thanks for stopping by!