Current Crisis – He slept in a park. They said they were ‘inclusive.’
They had a rainbow sticker on the door.
A banner in the lobby:
“All Are Welcome Here.”
Except him.
They said the women felt unsafe.
They said the men’s dorm “wasn’t appropriate.”
They said they were still working on a policy.
They said a lot of things.
None of them were “here’s a bed.”
So he slept in the park.
Wore two coats.
Kept his shoes on.
Learned to stay half-asleep, half-alert.
He applied again.
Spoke softly.
Didn’t mention anything this time.
Just said: “I need a place to stay.”
They asked for his sex assigned at birth.
He didn’t answer.
He knew what came next.
People call it a housing crisis.
For him, it was a labeling crisis.
He didn’t fit their intake form.
So he didn’t fit in their building.
He wasn’t a threat.
He was exhausted.
He wasn’t confused.
They were.
He died a few years later.
Not from violence.
Not from overdose.
Just from the slow, steady erosion
of being unseen
everywhere he went.
They still have that rainbow sticker.
Faded now.
Still in the window.
Still lying.
