Look At Me.

Look at me walking through your door.

I am a person. I am more

than the check my son writes to pay for my room

until I am gone, which will be too soon.

You think I don’t know why you run this place?

You think I buy that smirk on your face?

I may be losing my memory,

but there is a lot you don’t know that I see.

I know, to you, I am just a check.

You drive your workers till they are a wreck.

They care more than you, but you don’t hear.

So they leave, and we are left in fear.

Your ears are deaf, and your eyes are blind.

Your caregivers all are losing their minds,

’cause it’s not about us, and it’s not about them.

It’s about your bank account in the end.

But just you wait till it’s your turn, my friend.

When you cross over and see me again,

you will know me on the other side,

and you will be stripped of all your pride.

Your will feel what I felt here,

and swallow your most bitter tear,

but I will be free to be me once more,

unlike the day I came through your door.

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