The Way I Am Poem by Mark Money

dirty streets
wind blows the mud along the passageways
longer days
don't know which road i'll take next
nervous wrecks
playing sad music in the graveyards
while yesterday's dead flowers lie pressed
between the pages of my memory
you don't see the way i am

christmas ham
lies cold alone forgotten the next day
they rush to play
with new possessions gained in momentary ecstasy
you don't see the way i am

lonely folks
sad-faced crabby people cracking dirty jokes
taking pokes
at me and you and he and she and they
say they'll do it their way
empty fingers never read the likes of you or me
you don't see the way i am.

© (1975—Tulsa, OK)