#fuckcapitalism
Just a jab, and then you grow smaller.
Grow smaller, your smallness starts to take up so much space around you
Just a jab, and then you start to feel better.
Feeling better, where? In my ego? My joints? My gut?
Just a jab, and your problems get solved.
My problems, not the system, not our collective mindset, not those we minimize, just me.
Just a jab, and another and another and another…..forever?
Forever will I have everyone's praise? Fit the world around me? Fit into clothes I want to have? Fit into the personality the world demands of me?
Every commercial is another jab.
Each unique face I cherish that begins to match countless others, another jab.
Again and again chairs that are too small, another jab.
The love of flying, blocked by the literal and social cost I must pay, another jab.
Not just a single jab, but all of those that come before it, elevating the potency of every dose.
Stuck in a ring that I can’t get out of.
No one foe, but yet a barrage of blows.
No ref in sight. An occasional cornerman to pull me up and push me back toward the crowd of recklessly swinging videos, faces, billboards, and celebrations of shrinking.
I block the best I can and avoid the direct hits.
Show the others that these blows can’t down me, not yet.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 10:41 PM UTC
Lover not a fighter,
Artist not a scholar,
Yearning for a life where I won’t have to wear a white collar,
Mommy what will I be when I grow?
A slave, one forced to live a life of sorrow,
Broken winged bird,
Chained to the ground,
Denied the pleasure of sky,
Wishing to be found,
Found by rebellion,
Found by hope,
In a world where the words that come out of my throat,
Receive a mouthful of soap,
Hoping and praying that things will change,
The kings come to a halt,
Surrender their rage,
Place their crown down,
Write their last page,
A crown forged by the bleeding hands of a lesser slave,
Return thy gold,
His kingdom of lies,
Admit his mistakes, the suffering caused by thy,
For his glistening mountain of gold comes at a price,
A price of flesh not of money of green for which he lies,
Rocky hill of ancestors dug up for oil,
Never caring about the toil,
Oh dear king, have you never ponder?
Maybe theres more lives behind the number on your die?
Feb 18
Feb 18, 2026 at 5:30 AM UTC