At the bus stop, a poem

I dreamt up another life
At the bus stop
It’s not just a bus stop you see
It is my only escape
These streets so unfriendly I confide

There is a home few and far between
I wish Banksy would make me Santa Claus
Or an errant writer scan my thoughts
But thinking I can’t
KRS One said nobody is unreachable

Dear god reach into my heart
Why are many errors in my ways?
What did life expect of me?
Torment and hatred
Alcohol and drugs

That is what made me
A mother’s bosom
A drug dealers hand
Now I sit at the bus stop
A warm coffee in hand

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