She told me “Shut up _itch”. Unlike dealing with Mrs. Catherine Alvarez; I didn’t stay quite. I told Ruth don’t tell me to shut up; and don’t call me a_itch. The monitor got involved. Ruth also called me a tramp. My reply was “Your mother.” Just because Ruth was in jail; she believes that I should be afraid of her. I am not. I refuse to be harrass again by any female in MSC-South Women Shelter.

This poem here is how I dealt with my co-workers / employees assuming I am a thief just because I am homeless.

I am extremely angry! You do not care if I am hungry. You put me in your ill den; but I’ll be free by using my pen.  As my degree rises, my cerebrum form lava out of my volcano. I will not be Carl Ferguson, John William King or Lawrence Brewer: I will just flush my vexation with Liquid Drano. My parents did not raise me to be a drug addict, thief or murderer; I am just a law-abiding citizen drinking a chocolate shake and eating french fries with a beacon-cheeseburger.

So what I am on G.R.? I am proud to say, “There are no plastic C-4s in my basement.” You see, I will never send my victims to the E.R. I have learn from the Una-bomber and Columbine. I always converse with God, so I will never lose my mind. Working at my G.R. site on 241 North Figueroa, I see a certain Madame and Monsieur. They view me as a gangster. They think I am too naive like the Sesame Street Show, the cookie monster.

I am angry, damn it! Do they not know? I want it! I want my own job. I very much desire to buy my own corn on the cob. I clean the employee’s bathrooms. I put on my gloves and clean their sinks, toilet bowls and  the floors sweep with a broom. Tears fill my eyes. They pierce my heart so that it leaks a red dye. They tell me that the custodians are the lowest on the totem pole. Have they forgotten about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr and Mrs. Rosa Parks getting us out of the hole?

They say, “Just accept it.” No! I will not take a chair and sit! I just seek to use a microwave to warm my food. Don’t I deserve to have hot food too? You do not have to watch me. My unemployment, my residence in skid row and my black  skin are all you see. My volcano erupts. I am abrupt, shrilling, ” I will not steal your personal items!” But, they don’t hear me because they have their own idioms. Writing poems is not enough. Tap dancing while thinking, “I will solve my dilemmas” as I leave the floor with heel marks scuffed.

I will loose weight. Acting, running, singing, swimming on college campus; I will make them take the bait. I am exhausted of their labels in prejudice. Can’t anyone study how they are un-blinding Lady Justice? Employers-Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center, Barton Protective Services and Alexander Protective Services do you sincerely know your employees? Do you know your so called loyal workers are really eating your peas? The cocaine convictions and long police rap sheet you just do not wish to be aware of the heat.

So, I, the G.R. worker, the resident at the Union Rescue Mission and the homeless person, am your scapegoat. You blame me for taking your precious coat with all the funds and currencies. Your companies should have put hidden cameras up. then you’d see those backstabbing goats. They are the ones masticating your surplus oats. I have hope and faith that society will read my notes. I plead to my heavenly Father that civilization will hear my cry soon.

So employers and employees beware: The truth is coming out. Don’t go to lunch because the police officers can be at your office door at noon.