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In this world of capitalism,
we're driven by consumerism.
We act out of a sense of entitlement.
At times, we order others like a servant.

We think we deserve our rights,
and just for that we'll fight.
Just so that we can win,
We'll raise our voice and create a scene.

In our competitive society,
There is so much emphasis on productivity.
We end up becoming exploitative.
Can the outcome really be positive?

We need to think carefully,
if we can live with ourselves comfortably,
when most of our gain,
is built on another's pain.

Perhaps we should really see,
that we're not much different.
You and Me.
There's so much more that we could be.

Be the change that you want to see.  
To others, they might be somebody:
A daughter, a sister, a lover, a wife.
Please give some honour to their life.
In a society where we have migrant workers and domestic maids in our homes, waiters and waitresses serving us at tables, factory workers who are exploited to produce the very clothes we wear. It is a productive society, where people are valued for what they produce, not who they are. Let us start by being the difference, to give each and every person respect, despite their position, to restore more humanity to our society.
Chris Hutchison Nov 2021
I wrote a poem today
And now I feel better
I was productive and courageous despite the weather
I see on Hello Poetry that I am not alone
It's cured me of the shake and shiver in my bones
Seth Hollis Nov 2021
Got to do something with your life
or you'll have no life to live at all
Spent my time ******* about whatever came around
But no matter what you do, there will be something
something worth ******* about
So better do something good and enjoy it
or you'll realize when you're dead and gone
and they're singing your song
******* is all they will have to sing about.
dilshé Aug 2021
Don't you feel, it's time to feel good

       enough time wasted on negativity

that was a phase, a perished past

       gone - disintegrated into nullity.

Experience engendered a refined persona

       & it's time to fill that void with productivity

The road will always be as rough

       But your soul will strive for positivity.
perfection is a myth that we try to overcome
anytime, we can do our thing without pressure
certainty might not always be on our side, and
it may take time to gain strength, will, and courage
nevertheless, let perfectionism victim none of us; let us
grow and succeed within our own ways and time.
in this times, let this be a reminder
written 24 apr 2020
Michael Stefan Mar 2020
Everyone moves too fast.
Freeways of humanity move like ants
Scrambling for sugar
Or just something to make them feel
A pinpoint of light at the end of the tunnel
Or a pinprick of pain,
Arranged against the lonely desert backdrop

On these freeways
Politeness is a sign of submission
Showing our stomach to the apex predators
Wishing they don't move too quickly
To take us from our journey
But we all move too quickly

Like an angry beehive,
Always buzzing with excitement
Or is it fear?
In our mechanized strive for productivity
We lost the slow-moving essence
Of why creation exists


And move slowly off the freeway
Away from hill and hive
To park benches surrounded in flowers
Move slowly as your hand touches hand
Your lips touch their lips
And take a moment for yourself
What a
It would be
To speak to yourself
So cruelly,
Lying to yourself,
You are only worth
As much
As your productivity
Omnya0 Oct 2018
Everything I write, everything I draw; delete

The things I create, I cannot complete

Is it being insecure or being lazy?                                                            ­                                                                 ­     

I don't know how to be a productive lady                    

I feel stupid                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                                  

Since I can't anything executed

My work lives in the recycling bin

It's close in resemblance to a din

The backspace key is faded

My soul is abraded

I hate that I can't articulate

Does anyone else relate?

At least this poem is finished but it has no real end                                                              ­                                

I hope it shows what I intend
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