"sponsored" poems
The race isn't for the fastest,
But for those who can endure it until the end.
Boy like a cheater and a world record beater,
On the running track with his sponsored spiked sneakers.
Ready for the race and the crowd's screaming BOLT!!
An athlete's little secret later on was unfold.
Deceiver in the eyes and loyal in disguise.
A proper pro player, with heavy bonds and ties.
Not in it for it but in it for the fame,
Forgetting about the hard-work, sweat, loss and pain.
An athlete's little secret, later on explained.
People, can you trust in the one you trusted before?
Or even the one who stand among you today?
Their lies and deceits are like roaring storms,
And they are like animals that are very hard to tame.
But they took it upon themselves playing a dangerous game.
An athlete's little secret, later on in shame.
They took drugs like all around the clock.
The more drugs they took, the more enhanced they got.
But then they got exposed and hid in shame.
I guess that drugs didn't help their strive to fame.
Left in the dark and loss all but everything,
Can people still trust? Can a second chance be given?
An athlete's little secret, later on forgotten.
An athlete's little secret, later all on the news,
An athlete's little secret, so much they had to loose.
A athlete's little secret, once a try and a glance,
An athlete's little secret, there is no second chance.
An athlete's little secret, there's no more to say,
An athlete's little secret, the bed you made to lay.
The world once had great and untouchable athletes.
Who had admiring levels of personas.
Who truly understood what hard-work brings,
And who went through pain and unbearable things.
But there are some who stoop really low,
Just so they can bring a medal home.
Bronze or silver, none or gold,
An athlete's little secret later on was told.
Based on this topic and what I have learnt.
The lost of young athletes made me felt hurt.
But it's not fake it's all reality.
This fight isn't against powers nor principalities.
But a fight to teach honesty and give all of your heart.
An athlete's little secret, a fight to make it last.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
Banana splits lickedy his spican-and-span throbbing
peninsula clock jar.
The scar from his far faux **** ignited his beating
hexagonal calendar.
Which is used to peruse the jujubees metallic books in the public
libation crazy train station.
His ecstatic adulation exemplifies why diamonds are
a girl gorilla's favorite soap.
His floating cubed boat is on a remote desert
impala growling at the turquoise toilet.
But his spoiled toys are annoyed about the choice between life or
demonstrative sponsored concerts by budweiser.
Woeful razor beaked birds marvel at absurd his Salvador
Daoist Dharma surreal cereal caramel karma flakes.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.
Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.
Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
** Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science** —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.
Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:46 PM UTC
Imagine all the things I could have been
And all the places I could have seen
I should have married that girl
From Bethnal Green
A beauty queen
So serene
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
Imagine all the books I could have read
All those words now left unsaid
I went out and got ****** instead
Fell down the stairs and broke my leg
10 pints and I’m ready for bed
The day alcohol ruined my life
Mad for it Mondays
Two for one Tuesdays
Wet your whistle Wednesdays
Thirsty Thursdays
Back on the razz on Friday
Just some of the days
Alcohol ruined my life
I could have been professional footballer
One of the greats
And the League’s top scorer
Up there with Bobby Zamora
Sponsored by Adidas and Diadora
Scored an overhead kick
From a ******* corner
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
I should have been a movie star
Champagne and caviar
Me and Arnie in the Terminator
Sunset strip and the boulevard
******* hookers and fast cars
Enough money to fly to Mars
Until the day alcohol ruined my life
The day alcohol ruined my life
I lost my kids
And lost my wife
I woke up in East Fife
On the day
Alcohol ruined my life
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC
I come from sunshine.
Sunshine thick enough to form a blanket over tanned skin
And African insects that bite to live,
Empty stomachs and full hearts
And dancing in the sand before the sunset.
I come from winter.
Where the drunkards freeze in streetways
And there is hot stew for dinner
And my grandmother is a young girl who loves the way the sky turns dark so early,
And sugar sandwiches.
I come from rain.
The different personalities of the sky
Whether Big Ben is spitting on you or weeping for you
And the grey matches the bags under our eyes,
Where everyone is always moving.
Everyone has a place to go to.
I come from love.
Declarations too many years ago, and
The way a story sets my stomach alight
And holding a loved one in your arms
Holding a pet in your arms
And listening for the one verse where one phrase puts the planets back in orbit.
I come from anger.
Thrown against my own kind,
Born for another,
And internal screams that writhe beneath skin,
And the injustice of the person that didn't win
And a history blacker than the same skin it burned with no remorse,
Righteous anger that was never right
And a growing frustration at the living.
I come from destruction.
The sound that trees make when they break under the caress of steel teeth
And the way that houses grow where forests died
The pictures of animals that used to breathe
And a pollution so thick it has turned my blood to sludge.
I come from an hourglass
And clocks,
A repetitive countdown,
A marathon or sponsored run
And the last stretch.
I come from blue.
And green.
And the black that means nothing,
Space
And a planet revolving
Repeating.
Revolving.
Repeating.
Revolve.
Repeat.
Then end.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
For the past few weeks I noticed Concern
The Fifth Crowned Angel whom I will call Great
For Reasons which my own Mind tried to Learn
And attempt to twist my Clock and my Fate
Soon found your String was cut and justly lost
Thinking one of my Dumb Spots was the Crime
Or perhaps, Prunes, which spent your Meal at cost
Left me with no Change to pay for my Time
Why not? Strangers-by-Instinct I advise
Since this Gadget sponsored the Miracle
Which the Good Solicitor-in-Disguise
Took my Guilty Plans to a Cubicle.
Whichever it was, my Brow genuflect
In Deepest Penance I earn your Respect.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Backed and sponsored by the cabinet
Our heads on the server and internet
BCI experiments while we're under the duvet
Foot-soldiers follow orders on their handset
Rockwell is not paranoid
They've seen us on the TV,
iPad, iPhone, and Android
The BCI app that makes us annoyed
Please God, destroy that satellite with an android
My doctor is like Sigmund Freud
Give him the anti psychotic steroid
For making money off the unemployed
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 9:33 AM UTC
If you get it, you lost it.
I am here
(On this platform it is evident for your reading now)
I express myself
(Heads scratching, wondering what and how?)
I share pieces of me
(A defragmented glimpse of an experience deemed ‘worthwhile')
Callous, sensuality?
(Or a traitor in sheep cosplay?)
A dead-end hi-way?
Or this pawn from yesterday?
Here, your final say
This family we never asked
Amontillado without it's cask
Dry and cheery
Heart’s are bleary
We own this laborious task
My sins are scrollable, thumbed in haste,
Wrapped in ribbons of curated taste.
A gallery of masks, all timed just right,
My shadow dances in the ring light.
What of shame when shame gets likes?
What of thought when thought’s in spikes?
I weep in drafts, but post a grin—
The world won’t wait for the shape I’m in.
So brand the bruise, then sell the hue:
A wellness tip in sponsored blue.
This self I host in feedback’s cage—
A pet, a post, a digital page.
I bare my soul (or just its shell).
You’ll never know. I sell it well.
I logged on seeking something undefined,
A tether, maybe—some reciprocal ache.
But all I found were mirrors misaligned,
Each smile too wide, each word opaque.
The comments pile like leaves, not read.
Applause from ghosts, replies from ghosts.
I feed the feed, it feeds instead—
A hunger that consumes its hosts.
I draft a truth. I dress it twice.
Add polish. Then delete.
I write in blood, convert to nice,
Make trauma fit a beat.
No lesson left. No higher shelf.
Just one more version of myself.
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 10:16 PM UTC
My favorite thing about Yakult
Is that is spices up your tea
It gives my body a jolt
And energy for others to see
My mem'ry about having Yakult
Mixed blindly to the drink.
Is when my brother brought me milk tea shop,
From a place where gambling is in the brink.
A funny thing about my drink,
Is the connections I have with fellows.
They drink what they want,
And I drink what I want.
So the moral of this piece is,
people will like you if you drink
Tea with Yakult
(Not Sponsored)
Apr 2, 2023
Apr 2, 2023 at 12:47 PM UTC
As a delicate flower,
you bring beauty to a barren garden
with your wondrous smile.
Despite the harsh winds of Life,
you are firmly planted in God's hands
and stand upright in strength.
Your tenderness will always be evident;
avoid those who would look
to trample you under foot.
Let Jehovah's spiritual principles
blossom fully in your life -
Be a blessing to others
and reflect the brillance of His Light.
Author's Note:
This piece was written for a contest, sponsored on the behalf of Uguandan orphans. Many children have lost their parents to the HIV/AIDS virus, including Violet. This particular event was partnered with showmercy.org to get personalized poems, a blanket and a stuffed animal to each child in need. We are all God's children; please visit showmercy.org and show some love.
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 6:57 AM UTC
Feathered Fiends
by Michael R. Burch
Fascists of a feather
flock together.
Alternate:
Conformists of a feather
flock together.
I came up with the "Fascists of a Feather" epigram after Donald Trump repeatedly praised authoritarian "strong men" like Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong Un, Rodrigo Duterte, Xi Jinping and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Heroic Americans fought a war against fascism and many of them paid the ultimate price, so why is Trump giving comfort to the enemy of democracy?
The alternate version of this couplet was written first and won a National Couplet Contest sponsored by the Society of Classical Poets. The couplet has now been published in one form or another on the websites of major newspapers and news services like TheHill.com, Haaretz.com (Israel), Crikey.com (Australia), Cleveland.com (as the headline of a letter to the editor), Reddit Political Humor, and Humane Conservatives Unite Blog. Sometimes the epigram is quoted in reader comments, sometimes by the writers of letters to the editor, and sometimes within articles.
Keywords/Tags: fascists, flock, together, fascism, conformists, nazis, blackshirts, brownshirts, dictator, tyrant, autocrat, despot, totalitarian, cultist, militarist
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 12:48 AM UTC
And I have this strange feeling.
Memories of us,
Margaritas sipped slow.
Comcast commercials played on repeat.
The weather mild.
First in line.
Patiently waiting to board a flight
Without need for debit card.
Inspired by the look in each other's eyes.
Beats by Dre sponsored by the throb of hearts.
Wandering the gap between songs.
We sip, no longer the ones that got away.
Our silent trips planned moments in advance.
This strange feeling soaring over patio tables, beaches.
Flying away with you in mind body soul.
The many oceans to come.
Highlighting the glare that reflects off our window.
This strange feeling
Becoming more and more familiar
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 11:59 PM UTC
Welcome to your execution
You will not be exonerated
Your rights will not be debated
In this secret prison
This bay of pigs
But it’s not the pigs imprisoned
Corporate sponsored terrorism
Government created schism
Between the illusion of rights
And the truth
There will be no repeals
And when we are ready
Secret tribunals with no oversight
Will oversee your execution
Or worse your lifetime imprisonment
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Until now, my best work yet: a boat, a love, the Leonids.
Quite beautiful as heartbreaks go, a near miss on a midnight
lake, with wishes dropping left and right. I laughed at that,
said take me back, and until then, I thought I meant
to shore. Nice story; camera fixed on Indian Point, boat exits
left 'neath fireworks, sponsored by the Galaxy, brought to you
by Tunnelvision. Cue piano, pretentious fin, but then
you – a star: hotter than those meteors, colder than those
miles of lake. I wrote you in, rough draft, known as
the man who loved this woman best, but take your bow;
you've been recast: the man who loved this woman last.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 11:50 PM UTC
Are these tears of blundering laughter
or heckles of contempt
that spirit on these haggard few
to rhapsodise our era’s curtain calls?
They who brought us mounting debt and conscientiousness
which seems only to be healed in the appeasing fluorescence
of 24-hour supermarkets and the purgatory
of weekends spent at home?
Such stifling, nervous coughs
are head as responses of
today’s domestic questionnaires
Gung-ho reformative advances
and calls to “pull up our socks”
Mixed with the state-sponsored fortune-telling
Rationed out to boys languishing on the dole.
Which All falsely transpires,
intimidatingly revealed as being
About as appealing as vacuum cleaners for the soul
aimed at the resolutely bored to tears.
Despite our fears
the sun will come streaming again
through fresh fir trees
which decorate contemplative, sheltered lanes.
These last, frostbitten years
seek replacement with halcyon days
in order to suspend dogmatic disbelief.
Let’s not get ahead of ourselves:
Pessimism is ****
Even in the most roaring of times
we remained despondent and calculated.
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
Urban lives, controlled by traffic lights
Queues form round corners
According to imaginary lines
There’ll be gridlock on the internet tonight
So avoid the information part of the highway
(Junctions nought to one)
If at all possible.
And now for the weather sponsored by
Hello Poetry.
Sep 18, 2011
Sep 18, 2011 at 5:45 PM UTC
I feel this inhuman suffocation
when I step out into
that officially sponsored
fog machine artificial haze
to start the music blaring from
speakers that don't say a thing
Spitting throat lumps and grinds
lurching like scary monsters
controlled by raving mad super creeps
hiding behind walls of
electronic lies
and vinyl appropriations
committed to automation
in
beats making stage cages swing like
stray lanterns filled with
questionable electrocuties -
wild tarts that can't be broken
but you can stare all you want
at
Black-light-blemish-broken-razor-testimony
obscured with slashed fishnet and
splashed neon body paint
Move to the wavelengths
going to grave lengths
as
my dead beats facilitate this
Deja Vu machine world
of
backdoor audition submission
courtesy of half massed scrubstep poser pseudo-players
and maneaters planted on dance floors
Wearing short skirts low cut shirts
high heels long hair and plenty of
emotional baggage
and
I find myself feeling somewhat sorry
and guiltily enticed by the decadent
conspicuous consumption and sinister
seduction I cannot escape
until
The song crescendos and I slam an invisible hand
into the wreck chords
from now until the end of rhyme
I want to stop the whole thing
but this is what I signed up for
this is my punishment
so
with reluctant crossfader switchblade hands
I scratch the noise back into the air
and out of my head
because
the
beatings
must
go
on
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
It's the next best thing!
It's a scream!
It's got a screen!
and a million little buttons
that won't ever do a thing
to erase that feeling
that you're feeling.
why you are always waiting.
like the Rockie's or the Canyon.
like Columbus and the the great depression.
like Woodstock and world wars.
like the Illad and the Odyssey and The Beatles.
something more than
The consumer generation.
a definition through epic episodes.
a defining moment.
The revolution has been sponsored
by manufacturers and broadcasters
and warmongers and pundits
and people getting paid to tell you what you think.
and what do you think?
Why are we content with being incomplete?
unfinished and beat?
What the **** is so Comfy about that seat?
You are not generation X
or Y or Nothing or Nowhere.
or any of these false names they've created
to make us believe we are less than we are.
we've been duped.
the youth is not the future anymore.
It's firmly in the grip of the old and accomplished.
Your fate is their whim for a dollar.
Your life is fuel for the fires.
crass entertainment inspires your desires.
And well, **** that.
pull the wires from your brain
and we'll fight to regain.
what territory they've taken away.
Make decisions for ourselves today.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
Precious moments , precious moments
Where all the curves in our time lead
As ancient promises are fulfilled
And the air speaks with a delicate whisper
As I hold my breath
As the moment did all my breathing
Like it contained a heart beat
But here comes the megalomaniac
Explosive words of dynamite
Climatic , craters in the air
I despair , For I am nothing more
Than another field for harvest
As uncontrollable envy erupts
The megalomaniac can not stop
Like president Putin all armies
Push on with out him
Voices scream and holla
STOP STOP STOP
Ears drowned out by jealousy
He can not hear , as his armies
Trample , all over precious moments
Many tanks Many bombs
I am left shell shocked , as the obsessed
Megalomaniac pushes on blindly
Hypnotized by his insecure arrogance
My broken heart weeps
With its insufficient soul
having no ability to
Recover precious moments
As he wakes with a stretch , a yarn
A mind clear and without consequence
While years later I am in darkness
Still searching internal forests
Of great wisdom , so that
Some where I may find my forgiveness
You never reach the megalomaniac
They never listen , only to inner voices saying
CONTROL CONTROL CONTROL
Never stopping to think
AM I HARMING
Possessed by power
Sponsored by a world of fears
But I know I must forgive
If only the pain I carry could be seen
My soul would seek its equilibrium
But megalomaniac's never see
In a strange irony they destroy
That witch they envy
And seek to control
I must forgive I see
My heart clenched like a fist
As I fear the sun will never
Again rise within me
I sit , so very still
In hope that my heart
May find its forgiveness
For I have felt glimpses
Of forgiveness shine through
The leaves within this dark forest
As occasional breaks in clouds
Draw me closer to clarity
Although i live in shadows and the
Megalomaniac has long since left the scene
I see his lost ,contorted , twisted mind
A burden of struggling confusion
And I am brought to compassion
As I see he is lost , just like me
I seek to stretch into greater space
And begin to give GIVE
A little before FOR
So that i may be free
Before he can even see
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
On Saturday
any Saturday
every Saturday
multi-themed pedestrian parades
pour down commercial corridors
celebrating a holiday known as
WEEKEND.
Middle school queens throw
exaggerated waves
from backseat upholstery tops
in imaginary convertibles marking
the current flow route between
Foot Locker and Game Stop.
Marching throngs display
personal banners on
plastic handled brand bags
drawing peer clusters,
human petaled floats,
vying for ribbons
passing devoutly interested
sideline spectators
now feeling a bit empty
without score cards.
Hippos, thin men, package jugglers
stroll along the branching avenues
labeled in chest advertisements
including everything from
Magnetic Health to Jesus.
No mega-city floatilian
compares to the mall regalia
in a midsize hometown
duck-n-spend.
Though it may be
a little short on free candy
it is still sponsored in part
by Macy's.
Interlocked peddler palaces
reign as shopping centers,
though shopping is the least
of the reasons to be here;
not unlike people going to
a hockey match
are not going to watch hockey,
or partakers in Nascar
don't actually go for racing.
Truth is,
we are all hoping
to see a collision,
Haves with Have Nots,
Lovers with Haters,
Colored Hairs with High & Tights
Refined with Undefined
Talkers with Solitaries
Personal Loathing with Itself.
Unanimously, they all come
for the curiosity of encounter
incalculable, anxious, wanted
or unwanted.
In secret,
dreamers hold royal hopes
praying to Aeropostale gods
pleading favor with credit cards
and a bump in popularity
that if so anointed
the purest of this parade's followers
would be next week's
Grand Marshall.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
Some people cast a renewal on themselves
And i ponder almost annoyingly if Witches really do exist
I guess they do when people only have one thing on their mind all the time
Such an empty shell and i don't even want to go inside it
Even if you paid me
She only cares about her looks and wants nothing to do with any man unless he's loaded
He only cares about getting in her pants and off to the next one
They act like they're the best thing to happen since we first walked into Mesopotamia
I just can't stomach any of it
Admit the fact you're going to be just like everyone else when you're dead
Sorry, am i putting truth inside your head?
This is a vitamin that doesn't taste good
Gladly sponsored by me
Where are the human beings?
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
I can see why many people think our generation is a group of young people lost in self-absorbed apathy. We cry out for our ‘rights’, our ‘right’ to faster internet, better houses, cheaper clothes, sexier partners and better *** better computers, and the right to basic human life is lost. We seem to be defined by the foolish actions of one-night stands, drunken tweets and emotional tumblr posts. We starve ourselves to be skinner, work out incessantly to be hotter, binge to be cooler, reject common sense to be hipster, and fight to be accepted rather than fighting for true justice and hope.
Where are the leaders? I know there are more of us! The ones who shake with rage when they witness the horrors going on across the globe and dream of saving lives. Not all of us feel the call to stand up on a podium and yell, nor do we all desire to march down the streets near Parliament House fighting for those who have no voice. We cannot do everything all at once, not alone anyway. There needs to be unity for any successful action can be taken. Yes, one passionate person can seek justice and change hundreds of situations, but just imagine if every person in the ‘wealthy’ western world sponsored just one child, that child becomes successful and sponsors another child, it pays forward and global poverty becomes a shameful story in a history book. Imagine our children asking us about what it was like when the world decided to take a stand against corruption, greed, apathy and demonic forces, what would you say? Would you tell them you were at the front line, in the medical tents? Or would you sigh and shamefully confess that you didn’t believe in the need for change because all you wanted was just that beautiful girl/boy/computer/dress/shirt/shoes/camera/whatever.
There are so many things we can do, so many organisations to be a part of, find something in this world that makes your blood boil, an injustice you cannot stand to see and find a way to help remove that injustice for good. You are not alone in this, you are able to change peoples lives - yes, Y O U! You and I, we can change the world forever, just hop out of your comfortable first world and run towards the challenges that we can beat. I believe in you
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 3:04 AM UTC
The truest of Terrorists
in this our wretchedized World
will never be publicly labeled as such
for they are the ones
convincing all the others
that all the others
are the Terrorists.
You want to find the Terrorists?
Look in our buildings of Government;
the policy makers and enforcers:
politicians, judges, police, lawyers, lobbyists;
who are corporately sponsored
and/or backed by secret Societies
tend to be the ones
who most viciously violate Human Rights
through Fear, Prejudice, Violence and Ignorance,
(that is to say Demagoguery)
for personal gain
and that of their Clan.
That sounds like the truest of Terrorism to me.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
One more recess
and I depress the lever
then laying prone
with a metronome that ticks away
like a clock that's gone awry
I lie and close my eyes and listen to the steady beat
tick
tick
I lick chapped lips and wonder where the balm would be
inside the conservatory
or in the kitchen drawer?
My lips are sore
my life's a bore and so, prone upon the bed
I step outside of this weary head and wander through the passages
remembering massages and brief encounters
steps on which I've stood and wept
stairways crept up fitfully
just to see what was up there
and now
I come across the bare light
the coldness of the moonlight
and the howling of the winds that bite and harried me along
for I in fear would not delay
to welcome in another day and welcome out the night
polite is always best to be
never know when you might see or need a darker place
so just in case
I go that extra mile put out a charming smile
and all the while
my insides churn
my body burns
twists and turns and
in turns I see
the metronome that laughs at me
and what a waste then it would be
tick
tick
never as sick as when you're well
too much heaven down here in hell.
Then rising
realising that I'm back at where I started from
is like someone has dropped the bomb
and I am just collateral
a colony of flattery
and a sycophantic man I'll be
until the evening when I see
that no one stands alone with me.
In this saturation
this desolation spiced up with my perspiration
I don't smell so sweet
another timely beat from my friend metronome
ticks the box and I am home
tomorrow I may lie prone again
tomorrow just might be the same as if in this never ending game
I do not go to jail or collect my bonus from the bank.
Why So Serious
well Frank, the Government sponsored failsafe think tank
said to me,
'drug free is the way to go and then he went'
leaving me with bones so crooked,bent I can hardly stand
A helping hand that helps itself
to dreams of youthfulness and health
I see
or rather cannot see
what is the point and what's for me
but that is just another lie
tick
tick
my how time does fly.
Why
I don't think I'l ever know the answers that I seek so
dearly
I'm not nearly bright enough.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 3:15 AM UTC
Charity, you say
I should be grateful for a free meal
I earn a “living” wage
No longer a minimum wage peon
Thanks to my unpaid student debt
And yet, still
I eat from food banks
For my lunch break each day
No longer than 30 minutes
I watch others go out to eat
And I eat my PBnJ
That ****** congealed jelly falls mostly into the bag
And I decide it’s not worth the effort
Last night’s dinner:
Another cake or sugar-laden death note
Given graciously.
I just skipped dinner instead
Grateful, I should be
For a week’s worth of food
Only allowed to be rationed once a month
Variety is foreign to these faith-based organizations
Shelf life is king
Taste and nutrition are optional coincidences
Thanks to them I will never eat another raisin or can of tuna
I am sick of trying to make 2 lbs of ground turkey or a pack of hot dogs stretch two weeks
With 1 lb of rice
I’m grateful
I’m eating
My 5 year old is
Grateful all the way to my rising cholesterol, impending diabetes, and rotting teeth
I make too much for government sponsored insurance
And not enough to pay for what I need
I am the gap generation
Slammed into a stress walled coffin
Between homelessness and eternal devastating debt
Grateful
Because I am overweight and out of shape
Because I don’t look poor and starving
Because I “get” to sit all day behind a desk
All it took was 6 years of letting the government forever make me their indentured servant
Grateful,
That at least I’m not dead on the outside yet
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 10:47 PM UTC