The Human ATM

In the bustling lanes of life, where stories intertwine,
I stand, a giver of coins, a human shrine.
To each soul that approaches, with eyes of despair,
I offer my bounty, an endless affair.

They come in droves, with tales so vast,
Seeking relief from their troubled past.
A bill here, a debt there, a loan on the side,
In their ocean of need, I'm the relentless tide.

A woman with tears, a man with fears,
I listen to all, through the passing years.
But when I speak of my own heart's strain,
Echoes meet silence, my words in vain.

Like a statue in the plaza, stoic and grand,
My presence is constant, always on hand.
But beneath this facade, this philanthropic veil,
Lies a soul seeking solace, a personal tale.

I give not for glory, not for fame's sweet kiss,
But in hopes that one day, someone will not miss.
The man behind the coins, the heart behind the hand,
A soul that yearns, a heart that stands.

Yet, time and again, my voice drowns in the crowd,
My own woes muffled, my cries not loud.
In their rush for relief, for a moment's respite,
My story remains hidden, out of sight.

So, I continue my journey, in this altruistic role,
Dispensing my pieces, parting with my soul.
Hoping, just hoping, for a kindred spirit to see,
The human behind the giving, the real me.

In the quiet of the dusk, I ponder and dream,
Of a world where giving and receiving gleam.
Where my tale is heard, my existence known,
Not just a human ATM, but a heart fully grown.