SHAME FACE

If a guy in a suit walks down the streets of downtown handing out money to the poor, would that make him a better person than you and me? If we were the one receiving the money would we judge him; perhaps spit in his face and tell him to fuck off or do we accept the money as graciously as possible? Would it be charity: pity money for the poor maybe, salvation for our guilty conscious mind?

They approach us asking for money, palms held out as if in mid prayer during mass; but in this case it’s more like a prayer of hope, a prayer of understanding—acceptance perhaps. We see it in their eyes—a silent plea of help—they litter the streets of downtown, how can we not see them you ask? I ask that myself, every time I’m there; however, the question is not about seeing them, its more like why do we not acknowledge them. They are the nameless individuals; the forgotten ones force to survive on their own. We are approached by them everyday, and yet we look the other way in shame, ostracizing them for what they are not. Maybe as a society we are just not ready to accept that in every paradise there are dirty secrets hidden away—open your eyes and you’ll know.