In-Transit

Who would have thought life was near impossible without an address. Such discrimination against us vagabonds. Someone with a life here and there is almost invisible, unaccounted for, ignored, perhaps feared. Merit and acknowledgment for the safe nine to fivers but all the rest are vultures, inexplicably fortunate, weird, unstable and so on. The ones who walk where no one has walked are blamed for trespassing. They are alone in the burden to trudge through stagnation. How can we stay motionless and expect to move? We have the capability to be better but we choose to just be approved of by someone and not necessarily someone who knows us. We'd rather have a complete stranger forgive us for our transgressions than achieve any notion of self-acceptance.