bottom feeder

I hold onto this old bitter theory about class.
why it is middle and upper class people don't rub elbows with the poor
its the cold draft
its because need is frightening
hunger is frightening
poor brings the edge
presents it at your feet
the scream quick drop off to nothing
cold drafty need will find the cracks in any brittle bootstrap
i got mine cuz i worked hard facade and wear it down down down
crack it open.
so they turn
they turn their backs to the draft
Hold close their frightened hearts
the middle and upper classes prefer their own
where ends meet and make a fortress a circle
of i got mine

and speaking for myself, i prefer my own low class kind
i'd give my last dollar. and i have.

for me, being in the company of  relative wealth is exhausting
confusing
numbing
enraging
the effort to locate common ground
stretching and stretching to empathize with their problems
when all i really wanna do is beg for help
beg for money
for a job
for housing
for someone else to call goddam human services cuz their ignoring my calls and my food stamps didn't come this month and i'm worn out by life
by the constant stream of shitty news from people i love
from my total lack of solution
crumbling resources
and worry

the raspy screech of worry

wanna add that i'd be lying if i said that truly homeless, forgotten people don't unnerve me
because i'm scared shitless i'm next
because i can't help them
because theres not enough
the ground opens and the edge is right there
the scream quick drop off to nothing
but bitter updraft from below

i get cold easily
so i turn
holding close my wailing heart.
my bitter old theories self evident  and so what?
so what?
what do i do?
what do we do?


let bootstraps crack and fortresses crumble
let screeching worry fly
let go our hearts
let go our hearts
wanna say i don't need you
but i do.

a bit o' crip humor