Hatin

[wamaru 79]

For far too long now,

we see people putin each otha down.

Insults,Disses,and Bashin just make us scratch our head.

Otha dudes be hatin,by what they said

It's amazin tha lengths people go to fit in,

Theyres way too many deaths up in life of sin

The world's full of hate amd its gotta stop,

Thugz be sellin Drugs,on tha corner of every block

Now theyre's tons of youngens,sufferin from poverty,

They dirt poor,don't got a home and they hungry

The weathly people got all the money

but most don't share

Every night,theyres people sleepin on tha ground,dont anybody care?

[Mathias 426]

I agree that there's a lot of things we can do to help out in our own neighborhoods. Whether it's helping down out the local shelter, or donating to the Red Cross. When I lived in the run down areas, definitely not as bad as others, with drug dealers and murderers, I did all I could to help everyone around me.

You can't help others without helping yourself first. I got myself through school and college. Though I don't help out as much as I used to, you have more time when all your doing is school, I still do my part through charity programs.

There's a lot of people who can't do better than they already do, and those are the people who the charities are setup for and I gladly donate to. However, there are plenty of others who mooch off the charities and governments wasting donations and tax dollars. Of course, these are the stories you hear of most in the media.

Who would want to donate to the begger on the street with the sign? I just saw a story where the lady begger turned out to make over a hundred grand a year.

What about the panhandler at the street corner? Am I paying for a good hot meal, or another bottle of liquor? When approached, I offered to take them to dinner and talk. I was insulted and told to either give him money or get out his f***ing sight.

If that doesn't put you off from caring, how about this. At my grandfather's funeral, a begger came up to my car before it started and asked for any loose change and food that I could spare. We had none except for a bag of pretzels. He accepted it, but proceeded to hound us for money. I felt so guilty that I couldn't help and at the same time so annoyed that he couldn't accept what I had offered.

The funeral directory asked him to leave before she called the cops. He apparently has been feeding off the emotional patrons of the establishment for some time. Call me bitter, but I now donate fairly strictly to my church and their charitable activities only. At least this way I can see the good that comes out of my donations.

I apologize for the rant, but your poem hit a nerve. But don't all good poems do so?