Bought a van,
thought it might be useful—
now it’s everything I own,
my whole life on four wheels,
parked in the margins.

Nothing is normal.

Every move must be planned:
where to sleep,
where to eat,
where to disappear long enough
to use a toilet
and return unnoticed.
Even the smallest actions
become strategy.

Each day is a battle,
each night a negotiation
between cold metal, pain,
and the thudding thought of
just get through this one.

I lie on the floor,
no room to stand,
some mornings asking myself
what I’m even rising for.

Plan only as far ahead
as the headlights reach,
but whisper—
don’t give up.

Debt drags behind me
like another shadow.
DIAL tries to help,
but without an address
time moves slowly,
and money moves fast.
My last paycheck
shrinks like a puddle in the sun.

Nowhere to cook,
nowhere to wash,
nowhere that feels like
“here is home.”

Still, I’m held upright
by the hands of friends,
the voices of family—
the thin threads that keep me
from disappearing completely.

And I think of all the others,
walking the same tightrope,
never knowing
that homelessness
is only ever
one month
away.

[Based on a true story from a paitient.]