I know how it feels to be homeless,
I’ve slept on buses and trains,
But never the ground,
Not because I’m too proud,
But because I still got something they can’t take,
my Dignity.
They don’t see it, though.
They see the worn shoes, the threadbare coat,
And they think I’ve lost everything,
But they don’t know the half of it.

I know how it feels to go hungry at night,
With nothing but an empty stomach
And a mind full of dreams.
The hunger cuts deep,
Not just for food,
But for something that feels like home,
Something solid.

I know how it feels to hustle,
To panhandle on freeway off ramps & street corners,
Just to make a few bucks,
A dollar here, a quarter there,
And you take it, and you walk away
But then you see someone else,
Someone just as hungry,
Someone whose eyes say the same thing your eyes say—
“Please, just something. Anything.”
So you give them what you got,
The few dollars you scraped together,
The sandwich you didn’t finish,
Because you know what it feels like to be out of luck,
To be at the end of your rope
And still reach out.

I know how it feels when it’s raining like the heavens themselves are crying,
When the storm comes down,
And you’ve got nowhere to go,
Nowhere to hide.
I find some shelter under a parking lot structure,
Or maybe a bench tucked away
In a corner of a street I don’t recognize,
And I wait.
I wait for the rain to pass,
I wait for the world to stop spinning
And give me a moment of peace.
But peace is rare,
And the cold keeps pressing against my skin,
Trying to freeze the fight inside me.

I know how it feels to be here,
To be looked at like I’m less than.
Like being black and homeless is some kind of curse,
Like the two things combined mean I’m worthless.
People see me,
And they see their own fear—
Fear of the unknown,...