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You're not just a laborer, you're a source of value!
You carry the burden, you build, but you're the one with the lightest pockets!
They call you "hard workers," but that's just a cover-up to cover up the "harsh system" that saps your energy! Don't ask "what for," but ask "why" — why do you produce everything, but all you get are scraps?
Your fatigue isn't destiny, it's evidence of structural injustice!
Unite, because you're the ones who should be —not the ones being trampled on— but the ones who determine the direction of history!
This Poem directly addresses the construction worker, not with pity, but with a fierce recognition of their exploited value. The poem systematically dismantles the narrative of the "hard worker" to expose the systemic injustice beneath, transforming the worker's identity from a passive laborer into the active, essential source of economic value and a potential agent of historical change.
Bekah Halle Sep 28
I am just a vessel
for Your love.
That is my purpose,
That is my treasure trove —

You give me words,
You give me visions,
You give me actions to disperse from a safe cove,
Out to a hurting world;
Operating out-of-body and not in ‘safe mode’ —

We ****,
We pilage,
We sacrifice, not for,

But each other;
Destroying humanity —

For a three-second hit of dopamine,
That we can get freely from one another.
I am no-one. Yet I feel everything.
I do everything. I am rewarded by no-one.
Tragedy? Nothing. I am owed nothing
but a fitting death.

To fish for dreams on the scales of my life,
weighing all options—faults already exposed,
a past made of glass: reflective. Fragile. And so
unforgiving.

To be credited as a modern writer, despite
my financial pressures. Swiping left on bait
too absurd to bite. My ID card? A license
to exist— plastic proof I belong to a world
that never asked for me.

Fate. Destiny. Whatever it is— tilts the odds.
I tilt back. Desperately balancing: one side,
my bank account. The other, my place. Truly
my full worth. Every moment I must make count.
And if the world won’t remember me, then let
my balance sheet of scars be the proof I existed.
Я не играю — я Живу,
Сказал однажды Роми Майерс.
В приёмной жизни и в аду,
Где каждый день — и бой без правил.
Марсель, и снова по утру,
Я вдохновляюсь с этим миром.
Я не играю — я Живу.
Сегодня. Здесь. Сейчас. Спасибо.

Yaroslav Kulikovsky. Paris, 2021 (c).
Part of the cycle: Poems on City Flesh and Power.

👉 tiktok.com/@kulikovskyonthepunchline
👉 youtube.com/@KulikovskyOnThePunchline/shorts
This poem isn't a pose or a slogan. It's a radically personal statement about the right to be in your own life. No mask. No script. Just presence — today, here, now. That's where the power is. That's where truth lives. The world may be chaos, but you don’t have to play its game.
Reverberations resound,
Airwaves surround,
The Holy Ethereal
Transcribes my Soul Sound.

I yearn for freedom,
I sing for heartsease,
I beseech the firmaments,
That musicality conceive
A New Dawn; Millenial Fawn;
Material-Realm Transcendence;
Spiritual Efflorescence,
O, my Spirit is hearkening unto
The Holy Dove's cathexis.

Write from your heart,
Sing from your soul,
Unravel the Perdition
Until The Vestibule of Lightness unfolds.

Dream in stratosphere;
Achieve upon The Terraqueous Plane;
Ascend The Earthen Spire;
Know we each bleed the same.
What is music without love?
What is Heaven without Hell?
The Elemental Legacy beckons you higher,
Legion fatidic arbiters conspire
Rendering self-sovereignty a liar.

Open your eyes,
Unfurl your heart,
Sing to the Aethers
That The Spirit never depart.

This is Musicality's Manifesto,
This is Destiny's Diminuendo;
Therefore,
Know the blaze, fathom the burn
Of unquenched ardor, unyielding zeal;
With passion within, ye
Shall never fail,
So pilgrimage Life's Mecca
Bearing its sacral travail.

(Se' lah)
Excelsior Forevermore,


Sanders Maurice Foulke III
Dev Nov 2019
“There are days where I believe that my morning resurrection is met with nothing but passive malice.

That the world is nothing more than a solid pinnacle of frictions, blocking our path to the next.

The great next, the forever better next.

Some see this blockage as absolute and choose to set thier grave at its base.

Once again, our race choosing to bend before the self proclaimed unfathomable.

To most, these are truths. But for me, I believe different.

We can make the ground move, just through our will. We’ve grasped matterless vacuums of space, for no reason more than our curiosity. We can draw ungodly power from every glint of gold our eyes find in whichever direction we so choose, passion.

Passion, such a small thing to some. But for those who choose to break down their own barriers and transcend the fog. Passion can obliterate any obstacle.

Never forget, even when beneath a large marble idol. That we were not made in the gods image. They were made in ours.”
Lake Oct 2019
what am i trying to say
what am i trying to do
why am i here today
pouring myself out to you

i guess i don't need a reason
needed someone to listen
even if it's out of season
that's not the way i am leaning

i've had enough of my thoughts
wish i could be a robot
something that can shutdown
and will never frown

but that's not very healthy
in any case it's not stealthy
i tried to sneak around the issue
leave it in my rear view

but the reflection's still there
and sometimes i'm still scared
afraid of something real here
never given a real cheer

another beer, drown the fears
liquid courage with no tears
ain't no purpose here
i know that is clear

whatever needs done
i hope i figure it out
i'm the only one
who can hear my shout

if i need to take walks
or someone to talk
it's a part of a plan
for now, just what i can

this isn't a letter
it's a manifesto
to someday feel better
without too much hassle

this is not a revolution
just my resolutions
things i need to sort out
now that i've got my words down

little by little
i think everything changes
little by little
i won't be the same
Alex Smith Jan 2019
Recently I have been dealing with doubts about what my life philosophy is.
Yeah,
Sure,
I love people- I want to spread kindness and love and support and one day actually help people
(Possibly save people's lives)
But then I think about how much I have changed over these years - specifically the last year and a half. I have become someone different than who I was coming out of high school and starting college.
Yeah, it's pretty ******* "normal" for that to happen...but for me it was like an identity crisis. For me it was like the facets of how I understood my ego were falling apart and I was a caricature of who I once was.
But get this:
Since then I have found a happiness beyond what I thought was happiness. I have found some sort of reasoning to live beyond academic success and maintaining an image that is supposed to be perfect. I am learning that my flaws are making me beautiful. I am learning that sometimes I am not even that flawed. I am learning that I don't need to have all my **** together..
Because what is the point of living this life and learning new things everyday if I already did have all my **** together?
I battled with expanding my horizons and what I really wanted out of life. I dabbled with breaking straight edge and found some weird solace in psychedelics. I learned to be honest with myself. But that maybe I can be honest with other people too.
I found love at a different level that I can't convey to people - and I don't even ******* care if people understand.
I found an internal happiness that I want to radiate out but still get too afraid to do that because what if it all falls apart?
But maybe I can become a bit more confident.
Maybe I can bend my own twisted ideas and break a cycle I used to find myself into -
Because I am getting better.
So, if I were to explain my new life philosophy..
I would say:
It's ok to not be ok -
Things come,
And things pass -
Bad things don't last
And people can break through
From chains
Binding them,
Without shattering
Like glass -
But if in some way we break,
We can be repaired.
Because we aren't stalled
Or hopeless
And our past
Doesn't color
The future -
No,
A neon light
So bright,
Colors the future in hues.
Our reality is what we make of it now,
And how we can learn from it later.
So live, and learn.
And shine on,
You crazy diamond.
Whoa is this a manifesto?
Daniel J Weller Jul 2018
(verb) Observe.

1. Notice or perceive (something) and register it as being significant.
1.1. Watch (someone or something) carefully and attentively.

Observe all. See all as significant.
Especially that which seems strikingly not so.
Watch it carefully, attentively, examine the subject, the object, the Thought. Stop and take your thoughts in, then;

Sit and let the words out;
Sit and be quick, for observations are constant;
Sit and you may forget them all, so
Sit, and write.

Observe beauty—or ugliness—in the mundane
And the daily.
The prettiness of flowers is well documented
As is personal love.

Observe feeling without vague subjectiveness
Or dreamt-up narrative.
Observe your surroundings and take in that moment
Five minutes to write it down
(Or ten, if you're lucky).

Cast away your barriers.
Meter and rhyme,
Lines ending with full sto—
—Vocabulary narcissism.

Let everyone understand your words, for
Poetry is not for the well-educated
Or the creative
Or the recluse,

Poetry is for all that observe
And register their sights and sounds significant.
The poet merely watches carefully and attentively
Then marks it down

(noun) Poetry

1. Observation
London, July 2018

If you feel your work is observationist, or choose to practice the five minute/ten minute poem of surroundings, please personally message it to me, I'm extremely interested in the development of this way of thinking.
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