shooting for a dollar

I shoot for a dollar

as I sit on a dream,

I extend my hand for change

but it appears as if I’m an unseen,

they know not what I’ve been through

I’ve seen plenty of things,

so I give my two cents

as I yell out loud with something obscene,

to passers-by who go out of their way

to not acknowledge me,

further encouraging my hatred for people

and continuous ranting,

If I speak I expect to be heard

but if you don’t want food for thought I can’t force you to eat,

give me a dollar for my sorrows

or cut to the chase and bring me something to drink…

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  1. I wonder where they teach that skill of ‘looking through’ an individual…good poem on the topic.

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