Homeless people can be nice people. Dont let their looks scare you in not interacting with them. Their modesty is non existant, some ask you straight up for change, to supposedly buy a train ticket. Don’t be rude, but don’t hold back either. Never hold back and just be yourself, key message, homeless people tried not to be theirselves.
oh i just did one to this so why cant a other word come ,st something,o I will just wri and my keyboard is going mad again – I hate it ,its very very very annoying so bye bye
poor people no place to shelter them needy,hungry,thin like somal and sudan and all these countries. crying all the time wishing they were different people living in a different place
He found himself destitute,
With nowhere to go to,
Except back to his parents house,
With only an I told you so.
Or to the soup kitchen,
To live off the kindness of others.
And so he walked the streets,
Hubris making it incapable for him to ever live again.
I am homeless.Just homeless.Have you ever been homeless,you know its when you dont have a home,no place where somebody waits for you ,no place where your memories lie ,no co-board with food which could give strength to make the day right
I’ve never been homeless, and just the idea is frightening to me. Not having shelter or a roof or a place to go that’s yours. I need a place that’s mine, where I can shut out the rest of the world, but the homeless don’t have that luxury. They are literally citizens of the world.
Now I don’t now what this is all about….this same word ‘Homeless’ came on yesterday and I did remember writing about it. in fact what i wrote is about the fact that every day on my way to the office I’m amazed about the number of homeless people I see. then it’s the same word today. Why Homeless?
The wind roared, screamed; the tornado lashed the large oak tree, which creaked its last breath and fell to the ground, flattening all in it’s path. They were homeless. “Don’t worry,” the sparrow said to his wife, “We’ll find another tree!”
It is the state of the world. The hidden minority that fills the streets, carrying the impossible burdens of mental illness, chemically washed brains, and poverty’s eternal grasp.
if i were homeless i would save every penny to buy warm clothes and food that would last. I once helped a homeless man, I made a prayer to St antony that if I found my X then I would give my 80p weekly sweety allowance to the homeless man
Do not call me disgusting. Do not call me crazy. Do not call me homeless. I may not have a house, but I have a home. I know the meaning of home and I know that you don’t need to go to a specific place to truly have one.
No home. No bed. No chair. No closet with no clothes and no shoes. No table with no food. No window to look through. No door to be knocked on. No mailbox to receive letters from loved ones.
A homeless guy in the street. Every morning when I go to work I see him. Begging for money. Play his old messed up guitar. Which instrument would I play? Probably the ukelele. It’s easy to play, it’s light and fun. Yeah, the ukelele!
I have too much stuff. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be homeless and without all this stuff. Part of me thinks it would be freeing. The other part of me is terrified by the prospect.
my heart is half homeless, you kicked it out and not has no where to go. I keep the other half with me, and am slowly letting the other half be reclaimed by my body. Homelessness is something no one, heart or otherwise should experience.
Staring down had become a routine. Shawn didn’t even look up anymore. It was easier to avoid the eyes that looked past him, pretending he didn’t exist.
Curled up against the dirty, cold brick wall he held a rusted, empty coffee can in his left weathered hand. I took a step closer to him and he shook the can, making the loose change rattle, hinting that he wanted me to add to his charity stash. I hesitated. He looked up at me. His face was dirty, making his eyes appear even more sky blue than they really were.
is something tangible, something real that I have come quite close to. I was saved from that position from a very dear person, who also happened to have cheated on me.
She shivered in her thin coat, wishing she had thought to grab a different jacket the last time she had stopped by what used to be her home. For all that she was welcome back, she could not go. The abuse she would receive was not worth it. So she curled up on herself, and shivered in her too-thin clothing. It wasn’t warm enough.
“Which movie are you off to?”the waiter asked.
“The 3D Gatsby,” she replied. “But we are at the stage where we might see it in 4D.”
Her companion, hanging onto the bar as if resisting gravity, looked aimless and homeless, forlorn and bereft.
“If it’s no good we’ll leave,” he said. “Let’s have another bottle.”
”That’s right, said the waiter reaching for more wine, “Live life on the edge.”
“Right,” the young man said. “On the edge of a bottle. Thank you waiter.”
It is indeed a great lost to society and civilization as, to see our men at the zenith of their days, abandon and without the security of the four walls to call their home. No pain could be most severe, so situation so uncaring than to see those who build our road our and homes, without one to call their own.
This is it. Perfect solitude. A blanket on the grass underneath the stars. The perfect host for a beautiful summer’s night. What else could he ask for. Just a man, a dog, a jeep and no home to hold him back. The world was full of opportunity and he had no reason to stay in one place.
I emptied the warm, freshly washed clothes from the dryer and carried them to my room to put them away, enjoying the feel of the heat that almost burned my skin with its intensity.
Inevitably, there were three homeless and matchless socks left after I had sorted through the pile. As I tossed them to my “free agent socks” bin, I couldn’t decide if they looked lonely, or rather like giddy schoolchildren who had escaped from a boring weekday.
She wandered the streets aimlessly, her bare feet stinging at the open cuts. She fell to the ground and lay there for a moment, debating whether she should get back up or not. The sound of shoes on the pavement grew louder and soon someone was before her. Looking up, she saw a man with his hand outstretched and a kind smile. She smiled back weakly and took his hand, suddenly having the courage to get back on her feet and keep pressing forward.
To be homeless must be horrible. I’ve never experienced it or been threatened with it, so I can only use my imagination. But that doesn’t help the homeless. They need bricks and mortar and security.
The world has shifted and is now unrecognizable. The family shifts, separating items, and leaving one of the clan, wondering what went wrong. Now they face a choice, of broken homes and hard to find peace.
the homeless network is under Sherlock’s command, but in reality they associate together as friends that help each other in need, which is the most important thing in their understanding,
there are a lot of homeless people in Stevenage, I see them all the time around the station, in the underpass and around town, they don’t do anything they just sit there.
im going to be like that if I study art but it is as well as my friends call me when im not with my iphone, otherwise I’ll be hipster. And I’ve just remember the people from south America who ask for money and I feel guilty. Not snob guilty but guilty
Ive got nowhere to go
The places I’ve been reminds me of the memories I had
All I have is my soft toy
Ive got nowhere to go
Spend my time walking around the streets finding a place to fit in
All I have is me
they only wanted to keep the pearls.
Homeless people can be nice people. Dont let their looks scare you in not interacting with them. Their modesty is non existant, some ask you straight up for change, to supposedly buy a train ticket. Don’t be rude, but don’t hold back either. Never hold back and just be yourself, key message, homeless people tried not to be theirselves.
oh i just did one to this so why cant a other word come ,st something,o I will just wri and my keyboard is going mad again – I hate it ,its very very very annoying so bye bye
I have a place to stay but I remain homeless…
poor people no place to shelter them needy,hungry,thin like somal and sudan and all these countries. crying all the time wishing they were different people living in a different place
He found himself destitute,
With nowhere to go to,
Except back to his parents house,
With only an I told you so.
Or to the soup kitchen,
To live off the kindness of others.
And so he walked the streets,
Hubris making it incapable for him to ever live again.
I am homeless.Just homeless.Have you ever been homeless,you know its when you dont have a home,no place where somebody waits for you ,no place where your memories lie ,no co-board with food which could give strength to make the day right
I’ve never been homeless, and just the idea is frightening to me. Not having shelter or a roof or a place to go that’s yours. I need a place that’s mine, where I can shut out the rest of the world, but the homeless don’t have that luxury. They are literally citizens of the world.
Now I don’t now what this is all about….this same word ‘Homeless’ came on yesterday and I did remember writing about it. in fact what i wrote is about the fact that every day on my way to the office I’m amazed about the number of homeless people I see. then it’s the same word today. Why Homeless?
The wind roared, screamed; the tornado lashed the large oak tree, which creaked its last breath and fell to the ground, flattening all in it’s path. They were homeless. “Don’t worry,” the sparrow said to his wife, “We’ll find another tree!”
It is the state of the world. The hidden minority that fills the streets, carrying the impossible burdens of mental illness, chemically washed brains, and poverty’s eternal grasp.
if i were homeless i would save every penny to buy warm clothes and food that would last. I once helped a homeless man, I made a prayer to St antony that if I found my X then I would give my 80p weekly sweety allowance to the homeless man
poor
rich
box
brussels
beard
grey hair
no food
smelly
money
trainstation
ha
Do not call me disgusting. Do not call me crazy. Do not call me homeless. I may not have a house, but I have a home. I know the meaning of home and I know that you don’t need to go to a specific place to truly have one.
Not me. I have three homes.
Hommeles is also Dutch, it means trouble.
No home. No bed. No chair. No closet with no clothes and no shoes. No table with no food. No window to look through. No door to be knocked on. No mailbox to receive letters from loved ones.
A homeless guy in the street. Every morning when I go to work I see him. Begging for money. Play his old messed up guitar. Which instrument would I play? Probably the ukelele. It’s easy to play, it’s light and fun. Yeah, the ukelele!
The homeless man was sitting on the shore, shaving his beard in the mirror of the river.
I have too much stuff. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be homeless and without all this stuff. Part of me thinks it would be freeing. The other part of me is terrified by the prospect.
my heart is half homeless, you kicked it out and not has no where to go. I keep the other half with me, and am slowly letting the other half be reclaimed by my body. Homelessness is something no one, heart or otherwise should experience.
Staring down had become a routine. Shawn didn’t even look up anymore. It was easier to avoid the eyes that looked past him, pretending he didn’t exist.
Curled up against the dirty, cold brick wall he held a rusted, empty coffee can in his left weathered hand. I took a step closer to him and he shook the can, making the loose change rattle, hinting that he wanted me to add to his charity stash. I hesitated. He looked up at me. His face was dirty, making his eyes appear even more sky blue than they really were.
is home where the heart is? in that case, we can never be homeless.
she craved the smell of her mother’s blueberry pie cooling on the ledge of the window just underneath her bedroom.
is something tangible, something real that I have come quite close to. I was saved from that position from a very dear person, who also happened to have cheated on me.
She shivered in her thin coat, wishing she had thought to grab a different jacket the last time she had stopped by what used to be her home. For all that she was welcome back, she could not go. The abuse she would receive was not worth it. So she curled up on herself, and shivered in her too-thin clothing. It wasn’t warm enough.
“Which movie are you off to?”the waiter asked.
“The 3D Gatsby,” she replied. “But we are at the stage where we might see it in 4D.”
Her companion, hanging onto the bar as if resisting gravity, looked aimless and homeless, forlorn and bereft.
“If it’s no good we’ll leave,” he said. “Let’s have another bottle.”
”That’s right, said the waiter reaching for more wine, “Live life on the edge.”
“Right,” the young man said. “On the edge of a bottle. Thank you waiter.”
no roof over ones head – street dweller, something everyone should have a home – to be homeless must be terrible – amazing people have been homeless
It is indeed a great lost to society and civilization as, to see our men at the zenith of their days, abandon and without the security of the four walls to call their home. No pain could be most severe, so situation so uncaring than to see those who build our road our and homes, without one to call their own.
blah blah juashjksbncmnsjcjcndjcjhsduisncmasnsjinsmklcns
This is it. Perfect solitude. A blanket on the grass underneath the stars. The perfect host for a beautiful summer’s night. What else could he ask for. Just a man, a dog, a jeep and no home to hold him back. The world was full of opportunity and he had no reason to stay in one place.
I emptied the warm, freshly washed clothes from the dryer and carried them to my room to put them away, enjoying the feel of the heat that almost burned my skin with its intensity.
Inevitably, there were three homeless and matchless socks left after I had sorted through the pile. As I tossed them to my “free agent socks” bin, I couldn’t decide if they looked lonely, or rather like giddy schoolchildren who had escaped from a boring weekday.
She wandered the streets aimlessly, her bare feet stinging at the open cuts. She fell to the ground and lay there for a moment, debating whether she should get back up or not. The sound of shoes on the pavement grew louder and soon someone was before her. Looking up, she saw a man with his hand outstretched and a kind smile. She smiled back weakly and took his hand, suddenly having the courage to get back on her feet and keep pressing forward.
To be homeless must be horrible. I’ve never experienced it or been threatened with it, so I can only use my imagination. But that doesn’t help the homeless. They need bricks and mortar and security.
The world has shifted and is now unrecognizable. The family shifts, separating items, and leaving one of the clan, wondering what went wrong. Now they face a choice, of broken homes and hard to find peace.
the homeless network is under Sherlock’s command, but in reality they associate together as friends that help each other in need, which is the most important thing in their understanding,
I left my job and my family. I don’t miss them. I don’t care about them. I guess I never did. It feels good to finally say that out loud
there are a lot of homeless people in Stevenage, I see them all the time around the station, in the underpass and around town, they don’t do anything they just sit there.
im going to be like that if I study art but it is as well as my friends call me when im not with my iphone, otherwise I’ll be hipster. And I’ve just remember the people from south America who ask for money and I feel guilty. Not snob guilty but guilty
Ive got nowhere to go
The places I’ve been reminds me of the memories I had
All I have is my soft toy
Ive got nowhere to go
Spend my time walking around the streets finding a place to fit in
All I have is me
Homeless. That’s what I am now. One day, I was living the high life with a family, friends, and money, and the next i was in the slums.