Photo by Timur Weber:

“Hurry up, children,” you say, rushing past me. You avoid eye contact at all costs.

Part of me knows why; I am either despised or unseen. This is my lot. This is my existence.

But, another part of me wants to chase you. I want to tell you the truth. My truth.

You see, my head is full of dreams. But my daily life is full of nightmares. I sigh and look at the cup I use to collect coins from passers-by. It is empty. So all I have is an old blanket and the tatty remnants of my dignity.

So, I stay in my place and remain silent.


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