Here's poetry!

Although the name of the poem is "Cry of the Homeless", the definition for where I am and the stage of life is house-less.  Wrote this originally when in Cleveland and just continued to add onto it until I finally felt a completeness to it.  For point of reference, I moved back from Cleveland in June '11.  Moved to Cleveland January '07.

I wonder how well, how well can you see?
 The perfect person that I'm trying to be
 I pick up a needle and start pulling thread
 And sew a smile on my face to look alive more than dead
 
 Don't give me that three word phrase
 And ignore my eyes so filled with pain
 Don't tell me now that you love me
 I've heard you hurt people for fruits you cannot see
 
 It's not about what you can see
 It's more these things that are killing me
 Some days I wonder, are you really that dense?
 Can you really not see my cyanide death?
 
 I don't want to hear your words anymore
 If it ain't "I love you," they hurt to my core
 I don't want to hear a two-way street
 Saying you want me to grow only to chop me to my feet
 
 Don't tell me to man up, don't tell me to grow up
 Unless all my experiences are things that you've faced
 Don't make all my mistakes into *my* problems of negativity
 When there's not a positive word to show that you appreciate me
 
 Even when I haven't done anything
 
 Even when I've had a bad day
 
 Even when I really blow it
 
 I still need to know that you can still grow
 To tell me that you appreciate me if when you don't see
 The perfect person I'm trying to be
 
 Do you not know? Have you not heard?
 The eyes of God are on the earth to look for those who walk in his Word
 When you look down on the broken, you do the same to the Jesus you spoke of
 Before you tell the world 'I love you' and your heart ceases to grow
 And only care for the ones that you know,
 The Living Word becomes words you blow
 Have you lost all the life you had to lose?
 
 If you remain in blurred reality
 you won't see yourself in Christ's reality
 There's a resurrection that's dying, dying in our hearts
 There's a transformation, so stop lying. the forts in your mind is where to start
 There's a revolution that must be addressed, to walk in the shoes of the lowly oppressed
 To look to the end result that hasn't arrived yet
 So lay down the pride of your life; stop looking for differences, you only raise strife
 Start creating a love that is a rarity. A multitude of differences can become similarities
 Let God be the Head and Lord of your home
 Let it not be a house of dry broken bones.