i'm a product of capitalism.
my momma shoulda known better,
there's no reward for social reproduction,
i'm a bad investment
and my history attest to that
and my trajectory is already set to a certain degree
for freedom demands strength and bravery
but i'm running deficits in those sectors.
and i often question if it's too late
for course correction.
i'm inauthentic.
crises are endemic to my life cycle.
i exhale pollution.
i feed off my own festering flesh.
i'm a breeding ground of oppression.
a tendency to lie to myself: austerity is the answer.
the competition is killing me;
when pressure doesn't make diamonds it intensifies violence.
my breath left when my father moved his assets offshore.
i'm poor, sordid and a parasite to the core.
my bread was plundered from unpeople in the name of a privilege i never asked for.
tell myself problems can be solved through purchase.
i'm stressed and spent and i can't pay my debts.
my passions arrested, i can't confess: looking for the door.
i'm not sure the least worst of all systems is worth it any more.