I am that stranger you see walking down the street,                                      

A face blended into the crowd so perfectly,

That you could never see my hurt,

Or my worth,

Because I am that stranger you pass by in the middle of the street,

Who you won’t even remember in a second, a fraction of the time,

Because I am a stranger to you and nothing more,

And to me, you are that stranger walking down the street,

A stranger whose story has not yet been told,

A stranger who just wants to grow old and live a peaceful life,

One where they can brag that life turned out good for them,  

And that girl you see with tears streaming down her cheeks,

With a bag full of groceries,

Is a stranger that you don’t know,

Is a stranger whose story has not yet been told,  

A stranger fighting a disease,

A stranger being left out on the streets,

And the bag of groceries in her arm is one a stranger bought for her,

And that man you see,

Holding the little boy in his arms,

Is a stranger you don’t know,

A stranger whose story has not yet been told,

You would have never guessed that his wife had passed away one month ago,

And he is trying to stay strong for his little boy,

Who is only a couple months old,

Because he was never taught how to raise a child, and now he has to on his own,

That little girl,

Whose parents get so drunk,

That she walks the streets alone,

Just to cool off,

That teenage boy,

Smoking some drug,

Because his father hits him everytime he shows up at his own house,

Telling him that he is just a piece of garbage that needs to be thrown out,

We are all strangers to someone,

We are all strangers whose story has not yet been told,

A stranger who just wants to grow old,

And live a peaceful life,

One where they can brag that life turned out good for them,

That stranger is you and me,

That stranger is our responsibility,

Because each and every stranger has a story.