My Fathers Child

I am not part of the religious order. So, I have always been conscious of my own poverty. One thing I have been doing is amassing collectibles from the various thrift shops so that I can rectify my own condition of poverty. I also arrived here with some valuables for the same reason. Policy, as regards living conditions, confined me to a tiny room and a locker for all my possessions. So, when there was no place, I had to get rid of them. Unmentionable elements inhaled them they disappeared so quickly.

Society has called me many things: a bum, a homeless person, a charity case, a woman with the mind of a two-year-old child. (sociologically). The valuables I have collected: no.

In the quest of my journey of life I can only call myself My fathers’ child. He died a long ago trying to do the only logical thing a real estate broker should eventually do. Pursue his profession to the best he could do. So, when he got the opportunity to buy a beautiful and expensive house, he did it. Assailants murdered him there.

As I think of myself, I am my father’s child. Despite the fact, I see a future of destitution I continue to collect. Right now, I am packing up my possessions very nicely indeed. Even though the afore mentioned elements can nicely and neatly confiscate my valuables I am nicely packing them. My uncertain future holds for me the same fate as any devotee of a religious order. I never had any physical possessions and I do not need or deserve them. But I do. And I am not part of any religious order. In fact, I do not like religion. Go figure.