by Marie Antoinette Black
As the sky opened up and the rain poured from the sky, I placed my head against the industrial-sized dumpster and just shook my head. This was the fourth time that the wind had blown the cardboard boxes off of my makeshift tent. I was trying to keep my belongings dry and safe from the rain. I knew that I was on a property and it wasn’t 10pm, so according to the laws of Denver, I could not sleep on the property. But I wasn’t really trying to get to sleep, as it was only 5 pm. I was trying to keep what meager possessions I had been allowed to have safety and be free from the rain. This meant my bedding and pillow, but also my clothes and toiletries.
You see, I was now without a home or a stable place to live and it wasn’t due to any of my own circumstances. For you see, I was being stalked by a married, ex-Marine killer. This sociopath had a perpetual hard-on for me because I was the only woman to dump his married, black, sorry, fake police ass, not once but twice. And it was, “…not time for you to go yet!”
Damn! Here I was being forced out of not one, or two, or even three homes, but by my count it was now EIGHT homes and four states that I had run through, yet it still wasn’t far enough to get away from this creep.
I cried and then went in search of some more boxes and a little bit of weight to hold them down.
Being homeless is nothing to laugh about and for many of us, contrary to what others may think ,it is often due to no fault of our own. I have come across people who are without homes due to the rising costs of housing. Some homeowners and landlords realize that they can now charge more money for their rental properties, so many people who were once able to afford, say, 550$ are now being forced to pay 800 and upwards for the same piece of property that they were once only paying several hundreds of dollars for. Some people having lost their good paying jobs are forced to work for much less. Some are barely making minimum wage. Some people have left their homes due to being abused, battered, kicked out or some suffer from mental illness. A few are homeless due to drug and alcohol abuse.
I searched the streets in an effort to keep moving, because my married police stalker, didn’t want me to ever "get comfortable without him.” I was forced out of home after home, state after state, and cell phone after cell phone, all while he tried to steal my family, life and friends. He had already about me, saying that he wrote my books and not me. Oh really? Dumb mutherfucker is a police officer who doesn’t even know the Miranda Rights! Hell, I know those and I’m not even a cop.
But this nut job is so diabolical that he persuaded his bosses including the Police Chief and MARTA Internal Affairs Police Lt.
1) Not to investigate the case.
2) That I was a bum.
3) That I was a liar.
4) That I was addicted to him
5) I was on drugs.
6) That I was a scatterbrain.
Oh really? Not only are these things not true, as I graduated in the TOP 10% of my Graduating Class but also I am so much more than he or they could ever be, and I am not just blowing smoke.
I am, for the record, a Fashion Designer, a Designer, an Author, a Reporter, A Mogul, A Singer, An Entertainer, A Model, a Motivational Speaker and in charge of Developing New Artists, so I guess that would make me an Artist Management, plus I design and draw Comics, eg The Weed Head’s, The Alcoholic’s, Nun Since, MTFS Bitch Shoe Me, Jail House Bones McGee and a few others. I also design Cosmetics including my bath and body line Ocean Breeze. Yet I was now without a home all because I chose NOT to sleep with a married fake man!
Ouch! I went back to pick up a few of my belongings from the place where I had stashed them so that I could sleep in a dry place for the night. As I turned the corner, I realized that the workers had placed a plastic tarp over my belongings so that they would not get wet. And I cried. I cried and I cried at their human kindness towards me, as I had only asked them to not throw them away. I was so thankful to the Lord God. If you have never been without a home count, yourself lucky because it is no picnic.
It's a great effort to move your belongings from place to place and have to carry them with you. It is an even greater effort to get clean and smell nice. It is an effort to find work when you have no place to store your belongings. And it is an effort to come in out of the cold or rain. It is a hardship to sleep on the ground or the hard, cold concrete. It is an effort to not get wet when the automatic sprinkler systems come on at 12am wetting you, your bedding and belongings. It is an effort not to get angry when the Post Office worker tells you to leave the property in the rain.
Homeless people are accustomed to being told no, turned down, and being yelled at. Why go some normal people treat homeless people as though they are substandard when they are in reality just as real, if not more real, than others I have found that many homeless people share much more frequently than those who have the most to share.
It has been my experience that a homeless person will stop and ask me if I am hungry, want a drink, doing ok, need a smoke or even want to toke on their marijuana, and as the original The Weed Head’s Creator, I really appreciate that.
After sleeping on the ground and pissing in a cup so that I wouldn’t foul up the area, I went in search of my dry belongings so that I could start the day fresh. I brushed my teeth and gathered up some fresh clothes so that I could take a wash in the public library sink and get clean. But since it was still early as the City of Denver requires that you leave the Public property and Alley Ways by_6 am_I had some time to kill. So I headed towards 13th_Street, where I was amazed by the Art work on the Morey School Walls.
As I passed the Library I came across a beautiful, young, single father by the name of Ken. He was unloading his car and had coffee and was feeding the homeless and hungry early this Saturday morning. I noticed that his hands were full, so I asked him if I could help him. He said, “Grab that game.” I laughed and said, “That’s not very heavy.” But I dutifully did as he said, besides I was getting a free cup of coffee out of it. So I smiled.
But he amazed me even further. He had a line of people and a bunch of doughnuts. Ken, as he later told me his name, was feeding the homeless as he did each and every Saturday, but he had a different message. As a Christian, I wasn’t surprised, but he did surprise me. His was a message of hope. “We don’t care about your religion, or sexuality. Here we feed the body and the spirit.”
He had a bunch of boxes containing toiletries, shampoo, body wash, tooth paste, deodorant, mouth wash, hand sanitizers, shoes, clothes, books, games.
“Whatever you want or need please take it” he said.
Later he put on music, but not before he asked everyone in the audience to share at least one act of human kindness that others had done, witnessed, or shared. I couldn’t help but to share the goodness of having DRY belongings.
I later had an opportunity to speak with Ken. It would seem as though Ken got his start by simply observing the human condition of the people of the city of Denver. He started off handing out food and then someone asked him if he could get them a coat. He used his own money and went to the Good Will and purchased one for them. He then formed a loose partnership with the Good Will gave him a discount for the items he purchased for us. One thing led to another and now his non-profit called Humane Kindness has successfully completed ten months of feeding and securing the homeless.
Thanks Ken.
Because even though I didn’t need all of your help I truly appreciated the cup of coffee, plus I admire the fact that you are so willing to help so many people. As a way of showing my support, I would invite any readers reach out to Ken and see if he could use some of your help. As for me, I am still fighting the Police Officer, whom I shall now call the "Black Satan", and the crooked MARTA Police officers.
I have been tortured, raped, stalked, had my human rights denied and treated like less than a second class citizen. I have had three miscarriages due to MARTA, moved from four states, lost nine cell phones, had my works and money stolen, delayed and denied. I have been followed, forced out of home after home, all in an effort to get me to drop my lawsuit, which they deleted from my laptop and flash drive. These despicable liars have even called the New Orleans, Memphis and Denver police departments on me, all in an effort to keep me from fighting them for what is rightfully mine while they loot and plunder my good name.
Please help me get my life back. Contact the Denver Police Department and tell them to Investigate MARTA, or contact The Denver Post and tell them to Please Stop MARTA.
You see, I was now without a home or a stable place to live and it wasn’t due to any of my own circumstances. For you see, I was being stalked by a married, ex-Marine killer. This sociopath had a perpetual hard-on for me because I was the only woman to dump his married, black, sorry, fake police ass, not once but twice. And it was, “…not time for you to go yet!”
Damn! Here I was being forced out of not one, or two, or even three homes, but by my count it was now EIGHT homes and four states that I had run through, yet it still wasn’t far enough to get away from this creep.
I cried and then went in search of some more boxes and a little bit of weight to hold them down.
Being homeless is nothing to laugh about and for many of us, contrary to what others may think ,it is often due to no fault of our own. I have come across people who are without homes due to the rising costs of housing. Some homeowners and landlords realize that they can now charge more money for their rental properties, so many people who were once able to afford, say, 550$ are now being forced to pay 800 and upwards for the same piece of property that they were once only paying several hundreds of dollars for. Some people having lost their good paying jobs are forced to work for much less. Some are barely making minimum wage. Some people have left their homes due to being abused, battered, kicked out or some suffer from mental illness. A few are homeless due to drug and alcohol abuse.
I searched the streets in an effort to keep moving, because my married police stalker, didn’t want me to ever "get comfortable without him.” I was forced out of home after home, state after state, and cell phone after cell phone, all while he tried to steal my family, life and friends. He had already about me, saying that he wrote my books and not me. Oh really? Dumb mutherfucker is a police officer who doesn’t even know the Miranda Rights! Hell, I know those and I’m not even a cop.
But this nut job is so diabolical that he persuaded his bosses including the Police Chief and MARTA Internal Affairs Police Lt.
1) Not to investigate the case.
2) That I was a bum.
3) That I was a liar.
4) That I was addicted to him
5) I was on drugs.
6) That I was a scatterbrain.
Oh really? Not only are these things not true, as I graduated in the TOP 10% of my Graduating Class but also I am so much more than he or they could ever be, and I am not just blowing smoke.
I am, for the record, a Fashion Designer, a Designer, an Author, a Reporter, A Mogul, A Singer, An Entertainer, A Model, a Motivational Speaker and in charge of Developing New Artists, so I guess that would make me an Artist Management, plus I design and draw Comics, eg The Weed Head’s, The Alcoholic’s, Nun Since, MTFS Bitch Shoe Me, Jail House Bones McGee and a few others. I also design Cosmetics including my bath and body line Ocean Breeze. Yet I was now without a home all because I chose NOT to sleep with a married fake man!
Ouch! I went back to pick up a few of my belongings from the place where I had stashed them so that I could sleep in a dry place for the night. As I turned the corner, I realized that the workers had placed a plastic tarp over my belongings so that they would not get wet. And I cried. I cried and I cried at their human kindness towards me, as I had only asked them to not throw them away. I was so thankful to the Lord God. If you have never been without a home count, yourself lucky because it is no picnic.
It's a great effort to move your belongings from place to place and have to carry them with you. It is an even greater effort to get clean and smell nice. It is an effort to find work when you have no place to store your belongings. And it is an effort to come in out of the cold or rain. It is a hardship to sleep on the ground or the hard, cold concrete. It is an effort to not get wet when the automatic sprinkler systems come on at 12am wetting you, your bedding and belongings. It is an effort not to get angry when the Post Office worker tells you to leave the property in the rain.
Homeless people are accustomed to being told no, turned down, and being yelled at. Why go some normal people treat homeless people as though they are substandard when they are in reality just as real, if not more real, than others I have found that many homeless people share much more frequently than those who have the most to share.
It has been my experience that a homeless person will stop and ask me if I am hungry, want a drink, doing ok, need a smoke or even want to toke on their marijuana, and as the original The Weed Head’s Creator, I really appreciate that.
After sleeping on the ground and pissing in a cup so that I wouldn’t foul up the area, I went in search of my dry belongings so that I could start the day fresh. I brushed my teeth and gathered up some fresh clothes so that I could take a wash in the public library sink and get clean. But since it was still early as the City of Denver requires that you leave the Public property and Alley Ways by_6 am_I had some time to kill. So I headed towards 13th_Street, where I was amazed by the Art work on the Morey School Walls.
As I passed the Library I came across a beautiful, young, single father by the name of Ken. He was unloading his car and had coffee and was feeding the homeless and hungry early this Saturday morning. I noticed that his hands were full, so I asked him if I could help him. He said, “Grab that game.” I laughed and said, “That’s not very heavy.” But I dutifully did as he said, besides I was getting a free cup of coffee out of it. So I smiled.
But he amazed me even further. He had a line of people and a bunch of doughnuts. Ken, as he later told me his name, was feeding the homeless as he did each and every Saturday, but he had a different message. As a Christian, I wasn’t surprised, but he did surprise me. His was a message of hope. “We don’t care about your religion, or sexuality. Here we feed the body and the spirit.”
He had a bunch of boxes containing toiletries, shampoo, body wash, tooth paste, deodorant, mouth wash, hand sanitizers, shoes, clothes, books, games.
“Whatever you want or need please take it” he said.
Later he put on music, but not before he asked everyone in the audience to share at least one act of human kindness that others had done, witnessed, or shared. I couldn’t help but to share the goodness of having DRY belongings.
I later had an opportunity to speak with Ken. It would seem as though Ken got his start by simply observing the human condition of the people of the city of Denver. He started off handing out food and then someone asked him if he could get them a coat. He used his own money and went to the Good Will and purchased one for them. He then formed a loose partnership with the Good Will gave him a discount for the items he purchased for us. One thing led to another and now his non-profit called Humane Kindness has successfully completed ten months of feeding and securing the homeless.
Thanks Ken.
Because even though I didn’t need all of your help I truly appreciated the cup of coffee, plus I admire the fact that you are so willing to help so many people. As a way of showing my support, I would invite any readers reach out to Ken and see if he could use some of your help. As for me, I am still fighting the Police Officer, whom I shall now call the "Black Satan", and the crooked MARTA Police officers.
I have been tortured, raped, stalked, had my human rights denied and treated like less than a second class citizen. I have had three miscarriages due to MARTA, moved from four states, lost nine cell phones, had my works and money stolen, delayed and denied. I have been followed, forced out of home after home, all in an effort to get me to drop my lawsuit, which they deleted from my laptop and flash drive. These despicable liars have even called the New Orleans, Memphis and Denver police departments on me, all in an effort to keep me from fighting them for what is rightfully mine while they loot and plunder my good name.
Please help me get my life back. Contact the Denver Police Department and tell them to Investigate MARTA, or contact The Denver Post and tell them to Please Stop MARTA.
RSS Feed
