I’m calling you out. You’re a dream but never a reality. You’re everywhere on the streets and in my sheets. I work all day and catch the Colfax bus home at night. You’re everywhere on the bus; your smells, your faces, your rage. There is a woman twitching in her seat from withdrawals. I’m too scared to sit next to her. I see the face of the man who tried to kill me every day in my son’s face. How can I love this boy with all my heart when he looks like the one person I hate the most? I can’t wake up. I can’t move. The psychiatrist tells me it’s sleep paralysis but I think it’s you. I can solve Algebra equations in my dreams but I can’t figure out how to live off $2300 bucks a month with three jobs and a son to raise. Soon he will lose his Medicaid because of a man who cares more about the size of his hands than the size of his heart. There’s no equati...
Like the title says.