Writing is the only thing I know how to do anymore,

I cannot speak, but I can spell.

And I fear that if I ever stop writing one day, that I will loose that talent too,

Like everything else I had learned how to do.

Gone, and I don't know how to get it back.

I'm on the streets, it's not like anybody would care,

There are richer people that I use to know,

Who forgot about me,

Showing no kindness or consideration if I smile and wave,

They waste their life, and the sayings true

You won't miss anything until it's gone,

Like my home,

Like my voice,

Like my hearing,

Like my money,

Like my love,

Like my children,

Like my family,

Like my energy,

Like my life.

Even little things, that you have forgotten about, like a roof, like your clock, you'll miss if it's gone.

Everything you take for granted.