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Julia Jul 19
ball cap
bra strap
sports water
farmers tan
work smart AND hard
My eyes burn,
My lungs ache...
The sun wakes me
Through the

Dress myself
Wash my face,
It's time to endure
Another day...

Another rush
At the restaurant,
Put on a smile,
And pretend it's

But I can't do this
For much longer,
My longest day
Is Sunday...
I work weekends at my grandmother's restaurant in Houston. She's 71, and puts on a brave face at work, but when she gets home, she needs her cane to walk... so I put on my best smile, help the customers, wash the dishes and say "Can I get that for you, sir?" "Is there anything I can do to help?" But when I get home, all I want to do is collapse onto my couch with my 14 year old Labrador...
Man Nov 2022
be the judge of me
and see if I give a ****
I know how hard I work
I know who I am
can spit in my face
and still call myself a man
Sam Struggles Aug 2022
yesterday's shift still aching in my bones
one more hour still isn't enough
unrequited energy, metaphysical
tumultuous intrusions echoing through my bones
home is an allusion to the beginning and end
feathering memories, a time capsule before you go
unconscious peace, finally good rest
lethargic upon wake, it will be indefinite.
Nexus Apr 2022
Going to work just isn't working,
Coming home all alone,
and still feel like nothing.
You get to sit on your throne made from the flushings,
again all alone in the smoke and the ashes.
You thought you could do this alone but you're struggling to stop it.
Are you pained by the pain you caused, is it constantly throbbing?
Thoughts that just can't be ignored cause your head to spin violent.
Taking each day as it comes.
ilo Feb 2022
A M Ryder Oct 2021
It seems crazy
To change something
Thats working
The horse and buggy
Was working
It seemed crazy
To stop using that

But then they
developed the car and..
Well that destroyed the planet..

So that's a bad example
Joelle Sep 2021
We own the night streets.
Once the stores close,
we find ourselves staring down
the tenebrous highway, occupied by only streetlights
that fly by our peripherals like birds.

We haven't seen birds in awhile.
The only glimpse of sunlight you get is the day poking
through our blinds as we sleep.
The sound of children playing on the street-
is no longer a sound that brings lightness to the heart.
It pulls from our troubled sleep, and we simply smother our faces into the sheets that we need to be washed.

The smell of oil can easily be washed out of clothes,
but, it lingers on the skin, seeping into our being.
Our identity is slowly being crushed by work.
Dust collect on books, video games, CDs, instruments-
which sit not unforgotten but neglected.

There is never enough time for a meal.
We line our bellies with granola bars, frozen food and coffee-
yet, food surrounds us at work.
The smell permeates the air while
hands tremble and rolls of nausea make us weak.

Sometimes, a primal anger slips by,
an indignant anger that wonders how life could be so meaningless yet joyless?
Our ancestors sat in fields, contemplating clouds as they drifted across a great blue sky.
Outside windows, the evening sky speaks to us,
resonating more than a manager's words ever could.
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