One Thought

I met two ppl today...

One had a rose. Passin petals for hand outs. Tryin to find money for food when wats left was just lost petals.

One had a question of hand outs. I didn't know wat to do. I was on the train (metro rail) goin home. I was lost in my music. Just walking in and sitting down. I put my leftover food in the seat next to me under my City Year jacket. I sat there thinking about life. (Life is thoughtfully thought over by me and it means everythin that still needs to be done) I was waiting for my stop. Then, out of nowhere, I feel a tap on my back. I turned around, "Can I have your leftovers? Are you going to eat it for dinner?" "Yes, I am. Sorry, I don't have anything either." I turned around and kept listening to my music. I thought about it. It dawned on me, when is it a good deed, or just a good seed? Am I to help those that go hungry even when I'm starved? Am I to help those who need nourishment to grow a "pass it forward" ripple? I didn't know. So I just sat there. Stared at the floor and thought of my life. The train stopped at Brickell. It somehow paused, it didn't leave as quickly as it does. It hit me again, do things happen to me so I can be the Superman, the Super Hero? I'm no Super Hero. I'm just human. Then the doors closed and the train kept going. I thought about everything. I've been hungry for so long. Why should I share my niblets? Why should I trust someone that asks for hand outs when I'm always willing but unsure if its for the good part of being alive? But I heard his voice echoing, "Can I have your leftovers?" And it wasn't "can I have some money for food?" Is there a difference? I think there is. Food keeps the heart warm. It makes the hunger pains vacation for another day. Hopefully, they never come back. Before the train stopped I got my things together. I looked at my jacket, just the logo. City Year. I told myself that its my job to serve. That's why I joined. But am I always serving? I didn't think so. I got up, because my stop was next, and looked back. I saw their eyes. They had bags, litterly. Both under their eyes pregnant with sorrows and hopes as well as bags on their shoulders like their homes went wherever they roamed. It was a long day for both of us. I knew it too well. I stood there waiting for the doors to open. And I couldn't decide whether to give unto others or supply myself with fat for my bones. What happens when my bones dig their own graves? Maybe I'm just graved. Filled with choices when I didn't have them years ago. So I stumble backwards and then I knew it was for a reason. The doors opened. I thought about it again. And then I just...