Unapologetic & Not-Here-To-Please Poetry | Snow Globe Viciousness | A Poem

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I don’t know who you are

You don’t know who you are

You have money in your eyes

Too much money in your eyes

Layers over layers you bury yourself under

And try to teach me lessons

With your moral apostle finger

Fingers reeking of money

Money hoarded, money unjustly distributed,

Money, the mirror of your emptying soul

Bank account overflowing,

You don’t know who you are

They tell you that you’re content

And blessed

You have everything you have and want

Everything burying you

And you think that I am suffering

That I am lacking

Things, possibilities, freedom,

I am not imprisoned here,

You think my choices are foolish and wrong

The pointed buried finger

The ironed mouth cooking and trying to speak

Growing larger, biting more, through the finger

That can still move

Under the mountain of dead things

That lost all meaning

The beautiful house rotting on the inside

Emptiness, screams, you made money your worst enemy

You bound yourself to it

Reigning all over you

Your life in its hands

And you pick on me

Peck at me

Judging the way I live my life

You look at my bank account and

Think that I am selling myself short

You don’t see me as a human being

But as an embodied lack of money

You impose your way of wasting yourself on me

Telling me what to do

Telling me that everything I do is wrong

Think about the money, at what cost,

You have no idea even though you do

You need company in your act of living the lie

I have grown up in the country where money rules

On the labour and backs of others

I have seen corpses walking up and down the street

Sitting still, nothing to say, nothing to do

But preach and boast about unused possessions

Trying to lure one into the pact with the lethargic devil

You sold your soul for money

I grew up around those trolls and cogs

Of the machinery that robs mankind’s

Meaningfulness, purposefulness, creativity, life and soul,

I wish you’d stop talking, you exhaust me,

You vampire, draining me, energy-robber,

You made money a bad thing,

You don’t know yourself at all

And want to teach me lessons about

A life that you don’t even live

Playing by the rules that have been

Established centuries ago, can you even think and feel

For yourself, layers over layers, closing your eyes,

Bitterness in every bone,

Bile in your mouth,

You hold that finger high

And think that I am so below you

And that I require your help,

Who do you think you are

All I can smell and see is

That judgemental cold self-dehumanised finger

That stinks of money hoarded in a greedy bubble.

Photo by Francesca Zama on Pexels.com

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