Imaginary man
23rd April 2009
Call me Mr. X!
I live on the streets. Yes, here's my spot, right here, between the two windows and the pole.
You can't see the lines because they are not marked in colour
but we all know. We just know our own borders
This carbord was for free, this one I had to pay for.
What a loss! I was new on the streets, didn't know the prices
I guess I did well anyway, I'm still here right!?
I also have my blankets to keep me warm at night. But my neighbour has a sleeping bag.
I must admit I am jealous.
I have been here for three weeks now. The days have been long.
The sun doesn't burn like back home, it's as if it spreads cold light.
Heatless sunbeams
I miss my shade that used to keep me cool
My run-away tree
The hot sun I know
I close my eyes and pretend I'm there
HOME...
My neighbour does the same
We leave....
With or without section 23, a work permit, asylum status
HOME.....
I don't even understand why they created so many names for our status
We are....without identity
To my market....
To my streets....
With a hand full of
Identity.....
Pride....
Confidence....
Yes, I am Mr. X
One of the refugees
Not even that any longer
I am garbage
At least that's what they shout
When cleaning up the streets
Where I live.
