At one month to twenty-three,
I am a degenerate.
The bottom rung of society’s ladder
with my feet on the ground and
my eyes looking upwards
not to the ladder but
to the sky.
I have no money in my bank account
and a bottle of two-dollar coins on my desk.
All of my possessions are used,
or found on the side of the road,
or at least cheap.
-is that what I’ve become?
Selling my underwear to strangers online,
complete disregard of
the morals I once clung onto
but which can’t pay the rent or
put food in my mouth.
There comes a time
when you have no other option than to
accept the realities in life
and surrender the old ties that bound you.
I have started stealing from supermarkets
but they’re big corporations
so who gives a fuck?
It makes a tangible difference in my life
but they won’t notice a thing.
I savour things now –
a lucky find on the street,
the full-lipped roses hanging over fences,
homemade things; I find my
standards lowered and suddenly
everything is beautiful,
I can finally see the truth.
Like that money has no power over your happiness.
Or a moment is what you make of it.
Or when my head is lying on his chest
listening to his breathing,
the gentle growing of that glowing feeling
and an acceptance that it
will continue to grow.
Having, giving, experiencing love transcends
all earthly things we know.
No money or power or strength
could equal such a lifting
of the spirit.
It’s something of the soul.
I am a degenerate but I find richness in everything.