Poetic Memoir: Gypsy Woman

This piece is very personal one to me, it is inspired strongly by a time in my life where I was without a home and found shelter from a friend.

She was rabid in the streets without a mama and papa to care for her, taken in by her bright-eyed beau, she saw the light and it wasn't secular. The flophouse inhabiters were all-inclusive with right-minded ravings about how the world had discarded them.

On the night where she claimed her cot, they all chanted 'One of us! One of us!'

It was bittersweet to be one of them.

She had learned to build a home with the homeless, soon to be known as her brothers and sisters of an immaculate family.

Microwaved meals were a blessing, when days had passed without a crumb or quarter. The flophouse fiends always spent their penny on liquor, which made a Mcdonalds Mac sound like heaven in comparison.

It was memorable in the fact that they each made movies of their lives. Loitering for entertainment and Dispensary trips for that momentary fulfillment.

The Weed Goddess coddled the promise of her card & lured addicts in with the brush of a thumb. She entranced me and spun a web I got stuck in, sulking with love.

We attempted to make art of peeling plaster and paperback books. We lived luxurious lives in the pages of a novel spine, and never worried about the hold of money on our lives, as we had a plan devised.

Be the succession of a society gone wrong- embody everything they wanted to deny in humanity. Rebel and be goddamn good at it. Because we had been outcast and left without loving for the longest, by the privileged, deceit sipping from every bill they borrowed. We were lucky if we didn't starve to see tomorrow.

From that period of time that I was kicked out.

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