fuzzy eyes
muzzy mind
trying to figure out why everything hurts
all the goddamn time
hands once again broken out in hives
red and cracked and
dry dry dry
it burns and it burns
and fuck it hurts
and i can't figure out why
asleep on my feet
going through the routines
hands shaking
so pumped full of caffeine
smiling, always smiling
even as muscles scream
and the people on the other side of the glass
look at me like i'm a machine
always telling me what they want
not caring about what i need
aches that last for days
wearing fatigue on my face
and i know why it hurts
because they carved us spaces
from places meant for slaves
and nothing of that kind
will every be good for body
or for mind
but at least nowadays
i get paid
minimum wage
YOU ARE READING
collections of constellations and the stars || poetry collection
Poetrypoems often written at midnight, each telling its own story. an anthology of sorts. grammatically incorrect use of lowercase is an aesthetic choice and intentional. |incomplete|
