Fate has a strange sense of humor,
don’t you think?
There being no room for the likes of me –
I don’t fit inside their narrow box.
I’m not surprised, just tired.
The street on my skin not in fashion,
The street in my eyes reflected back in disdain.
Their eyes telling me
I’m not right for the job.
A high school drop out with shoes
worn down by the pavement.
They want that happy smile
worn by other blind sheep.
I’m not surprised, just tired of tryin’.
Waitin’ in line for a hand up
or a hand down? In here,
no one cares – pride left at the door.
Mine left on the bus,
needing to travel light.
Instead, I learned not to cry
just because it’s unfair –
owning more time than faith.
Faith the currency of those too busy to see.
©2016 Brenda Baker