Trashy

I was dealt the hand of homelessness not too long ago,
when the money was coming in too slow,
not fast enough for rent, we had to spend it on food
and try to tough it out and hope we made it out,
moved in at my grandmother's workplace
living out of a car, calling her boss's officespace my bedrest,
I tried to rest, she told me that satan's issued a test,
whether we pass or not, the love from heaven is the same,
and if we make it through then our efforts not in vain,
keep on moving foward like blood in our veins,
Time passed and money flocked its way to us,
happy for the little bit god gave us,
angry for the bullshit satan made for us,
miraculous sight of finally getting out,
affording the luxury of eating about restaurants and cinemas
for once in a while,
we still feel the aftershocks of the crash living in a pile of debt,
my grandmother hasn't wept under all of the stess,
but i see it in her face, deep within her eyes her true feelings,
she tells me get educated to prevent this from happening,
to you, 
a melancholy voice that is half a century old
a young mind that doesn't listen to what he's told,
makes a lesson in teaching not easy to understand,
tells me there's times when you feel trashy,
when it seems like you wont make it from poverty,
but have faith in your virtues, your bones won't break,
life may hurt you, but your mind will heal the scrapes.