What exactly is wrong with me. My creator knows I’m trying. I follow the signs. I better myself constantly. And yet.. That’s all there is. Being better than I was yesterday. And so on. And on. And on. This journey of enlightenment I get to enjoy alone. It looks like good guys really do finish last. I wasn’t always such a friendly, giving person. I used to be so malicious and selfish. There were people around, then, at the very least. Now there’s no one. No one but my adoptive mother. I’m on probation. I’m homeless. I’m so fucking alone. It’s good that I am. There’s no one to drag down with me. Why does being a good person get you nowhere? Why am I left alone to die in this despicable world? It’s all so ugly, now. I don’t even bother picking up my cigarette filters. How can I give a shit about this city, when I am looking at the hookers and junkies who call the streets home? The streets left them to die. So I don’t care about these streets anymore. Fuck it. All of it. I don’t even care anymore. I think I’m done being Mister Know-it-all Buddhist Intellectual. This part of me serves no purpose, it seems this way to me. It’s gotten me nowhere. I’m a high school dropout, with one credit to finish and a full college scholarship. College? For what?? So I can be like every other bachelor’s degree with no job in their field? The streets taught me to survive. The universities teach you to decay. Books and research. No. I’m researching the lower class at the School of Hard Knocks. Albeit an unwilling participant. School? Can I eat knowledge? Can I eat expensive textbooks? Can I sleep under them, like a little tent? Will my knowledge hold me at night and tell me I’m not that bad of a person, and that life is unfair to all? No. Because it’s not. Life isn’t unfair to everyone. Silly, petty fucking problems. “Oh, my nail broke!” “Oh no my tire is flat!” “Oh no my boyfriend cheated on me!” There are bigger fucking fish to fry. Look outside. Look at the hookers, homeless, and the junkies. THEY NEED MORE ATTENTION THAN YOUR FUCKING MAKEUP CASE. That money you were gonna use for a new phone? Give it to the fucking homeless kid digging through the dumpster. That man hitchhiking? Hes only there because no one thought, “ Maybe this isn’t his fault”. Your expensive fucking cars and movie theaters and tropical getaways. Disgusting. Save a life. My surrogate mother asks me what I did wrong to lose my place. As if it were my fault circumstance is so bitterly unfair to me. Yes, life kills the most beautiful people. It turns them into ugly, decrepit things. Sitting at a bus stop high on meth, so they don’t have to sleep and take the chance of getting stabbed or robbed or raped. Absolutely disgusting. I’m the shit of the Earth too. Spit on me. I’m soiled. I’m trash, too. That hooker is my sister. That heroin junkie is my brother. The streets are my parents. And the city is the devil. So if you’ve had everything handed to you, and you say “this is their fault” then I say you are the problem. Yes, life can be that fucking unfair. Yes. The odds can be stacked against you so high that your only friends are the lice that live in your hair and the scabies that fester in your skin. Your only source of sustenance, the dumpster. Your only.bed, the gutter. Yes. Life can be this cruel. Don’t fucking judge us, the shit of the Earth. Maybe if less people had expensive cars and built the homeless shelter with their own fucking hands instead of scoffing at the downtrodden, giving their money to the city and to the charities, if only to clear your conscience. I am done. I say the rich and beautiful are the scum. I say the powerful are the weak. This is how Jesus felt. This is how the Nobleman Siddhartha Gautama felt. This is how Moses felt. They left their easy lives to help the fallen. And if you will not do so much as lend a God Damn dollar to the poor, into their hands from yours, then I say you are the scum of the Earth.
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