The Bag Lady
She liked her teachers
Even though they didn’t make sense.
She liked being around others
Even though they didn’t like
Being around her.
She liked to stroll around the city.
So when she arrived at nothingness,
She did what was natural:
Walked alone, walked along,
Picking up things that others might want.
Being outside — out there
Where it all was.
Where it was all happening.
This is life.
People, traffic, trash and treasure.
Why not pick up stuff
That’s still good?
It’s a way to get by
And be part of the whole.
The grocery cart is a good truck,
Office and calling card.
But no one ever calls.
The disease that began at home
And continued in school
Has progressed.
Now she’s scared.
Scared of two-legged animals
And the FBI and the CIA,
The DEA, and the National Security Agency,
As well as the Department of Human Services
And people who hurt.
It all happened so slowly.
A laughing little girl
Who had bad uncles,
And teachers who talked only to groups
Is now sick, paranoid, and hungry,
But free.
gregswimelar 
Just came across your blog and this post and I loved your words. So touching and true. Thank you. Behind every person on the streets or every person that’s living their life on a planet of psychosis or overflowing paranoia, is a story behind what has taken them there. So it is nice to read words about something such as this that so many choose to look the other way to. Thank you! x