Category: Poetry

The world continues to burn.
Everyone has an agenda, but
no one has a game-plan on
how to stop the greedy from
gaining more power and the
powerful from becoming more
greedy.

“Big Brother” has his false eyes
on us, watching our every move.
Will we give our last penny to
their bullsh*t plan to alleviate
pain?
Will we morph into another
mark to make on their to-do
list?

I am falling out of love
with a place that once brought
me laughter and peace, but I
still have all my limbs and I
am not a childless mother.

I haven’t had to watch my
baby burn alive or combust
spontaneously with the push
of a button from an evildoer.

I have no murdered husband
or instantly exploded wife to
mourn; I just sit here after
devoting 8 to 9 hours of each
day increasing the net worth
of someone else, and I drown
my pain in fiction that feels real.

And while I monitor my
screen-time; both portable
and stationary devices, I can’t
help but notice how much of
my privacy is no longer private.

They’re in our thoughts.
In our foods and
clothing, too. They invade
our dreams and slaughter the
main character who is seemingly
doing well.

Because the moment you
begin to think things will
get better, the greedy and the
powerful and the “Big Brother”
with false eyes remind you
better is a century away.