but I am willing to do too much. 

When I am hungry and tired of eating crickets and a can of beans I’ll go into a Whole Foods and take the good shit. The five-dollar bags of natural-cut potato chips. The biggest container of Naked Juice they sell in the produce aisle. The fresh fucking cherries right from the bin. Without guilt. Without remorse. Because no one deserves to be treated like waste. Fed scraps. Left to do anything but live. Under the underpass or in an alley that only fools with a death-wish explore on their own. No one deserves to drop a deuce on crumpled newspapers in a plastic bag. Worrying about getting arrested every time they gotta take a piss. No one needs to be sitting in the cold by themselves coughing up phlegm/blood begging for the chance to get stoned. Out of their minds. Until thrown away feels like getting left alone. 

Yes, my skin has been a net that has dragged me back from the river’s bottom. And yes, class is deeper than a pocketbook printed in black or red. And yes, my size and scruff and dick have saved me from fates I dare not fathom. And yes, I would be a liar if I said my years of dumpster dining and broken glass-bedding have meant that I lived the hard life. But maybe it won’t take you tripping this low to see: that it takes its own kind of courage to stand with a cup in yr hand and pray for compassion in a world with no fucks to give for gods or men not making it money.