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Commodified Existence
Bent Blue
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I'm a human being.
Not a commodity.
So why does my life seem.
Expendable to the capital machine?
3 jobs, can't eat, 2 mouths to feed, I choke.
It's clear my wage is meant to keep me broke.
Bootstraps long torn, why can't I flee this yoke?
I'll tell you!
Focused with their "I's", the rich pretend not to see.
The world they dub "free" requires my poverty.
Their comfort and efficiency are strangling me.
The invisible hand's around my throat.
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How many lives go unlived,
Robbed by systems that deny humanity,
All because of greed?
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They won't stop it.
Can I?
I can start by recognizing:
I'm not expendable!
My life has value,
But not as currency
In a violent system
That relies and thrives on killing me.
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