Homeless

The space that seperates me from the man sleeping on the street is razor thin. I feel blessed. I walk through life knowing that an unfortunate series of events could occur, throwing me so miserably low that my footing would escape me. Yet, I don't slip. I am able to walk that thin tightrope line, barely balanced.

Most homeless people probably had a mother who looked into her baby's eyes and carressed his or her cheak thinking of the possibility in that life,seeing a future of boundless possibilities.

Is she still out there, wondering what happened to him? Perhaps he had a "normal" job but had a mental condition which was controllable through medication. He was mugged and hit over the head. He missed his medication and descended into confusion. He didn't have many friends. He had just started the job. He just disappeared, into the void of the city, forgotten.

'Selling Out'-(selected lyrics)

There is beauty in destruction,
in the act of reconstruction,
in the art of healing scars.

I've sat on 42nd street
and the passing of the strangers' feet
gave the beat to my guitar.

I am not a common bum,
but I can sing, and I can strum
and turn your change into a meal.
One step from being homeless
fucked up but never hopeless
is this the way you feel?

but who's gonna pick me up?
Who's gonna pick me up?
put a dime in my paper cup,
cuz I have fallen
fallen down.

© 2006 Robert German

There was a time, not so long ago when I sat on 42nd street and played my guitar for change so that I could eat. I had lost my job, been dumped by my boyfriend of 4 1/2 year(for someone else), and been the victim of a family prayer circle at my sister's wedding. All things combined caused a bit of a breakdown. This dark period in my life is one of the best things that could have ever happened to me. You don't truly know what you have until you lose it all. This is one of the greatest gifts you can ever have.


photo credit-Carrie Thomas