In the sweet dark of night;
The blanket of black comfort
Watch over me with eyes of moon and stars
We’ll be going and going and going
So far; from this hole
This time we’re never coming back
And Im ecstatic
I waited my whole life
To disappear into your arms
Its finally time for us to go away
There is no love left
And no reason to stay
I calmly walk on down the lane
Counting my money
Tears of joy;
Streaming down my face
When I was living on the streets I decided to do something special for myself one day. I went shopping at Capilano Mall 3 blocks from the shelter. I had been trying to save money but I was extremely depressed, buying this definitely cheered me up. Although! I felt very childish buying kitty ears toque with attached kitty mitts. I never would have thought it would make me suck a peacock, but I liked it. I’ve never had so many complements on a piece of clothing in my life… catching girls taking pictures of me on the train and sometimes up to 5 times a day people stopping me to tell me how much they love the hat. It definitely kept me warm as well in zero degree temperatures while I struggled my way out of shelters and from a ice cold R.V. to the beautiful home I have today.
Diz iz muh hat.
I’m beautiful with Audacity, “They call you Shade?!” He said. ” You’re shaded indeed…”. She’s nice with the raps. In depth, the homies in disguise he liked to say…
I’m up many hours before the sunrise to explore myself. Dreaming of fleeting escape, no longer trapped. The raindrops scatter my city and it won’t be long before I’m unseen in the masses; trainbound. You don’t need fare for the Zion train just hop on board.
I’m beautiful with audacity indeed. I love my markers and spray paint; my skateboard and my slap sticker collection of winking flowers and dripping calligraphy. My magnum markers leave them to manage the damage; I’m constantly redecorating the City.
I’ve found my comfort in the dark places and euphoric ignorance. Through the streets and alleyways, trains and buses. I watch this shit twists and turns over many years amongst this science of drug trade and gentrification . It doesn’t take long to be immune to the needles scattered along the pathways, human feces and drug trade swap meets. We got it. And it’s all for sale.
“Come here girl…”.
I found my home in the streets at a young age; my concrete playground. I’ve found… something… I see something. The streets are yours was the message written along the tattered wall. I want nothing from it, perhaps peace or a sense of purpose. Surely not money nor a drug rush, I have left such in the past.
Just “Be easy going,”.