Private purpose doesn’t feed me.
It doesn’t cover me up in winter
or put together the splintered pieces of my mind.
Pray for me? Yes, but I must confess 
that those prayers do less for me than a burger
when the hunger is gnawing at my gut.

I see you and you see me,
but what I see is you flee at the sight of me.
Avoidance is your goal,
because I just don’t pass the test
of a socio-economico portfolio.

I don’t fit in with your best laid plans.
Stand too close and you’ll smell like me, look like me,
talk like I talk and walk with a limp, like a gimp
who eats in shelters and weathers reality
by living in dreams.

This just can’t be all that you have to give.
I need more.  Not just a hot air prayer. 
I need food and a friend,
a companion that can see me a ways off,
since looking at me right now
isn’t much to see.