Everyone Wasn’t Made to Hustle

A Prose Poem/Rant

Photo by Garrhet Sampson on Unsplash

Every other day, there’s a post sent to my LinkedIn feed telling me I must “have more than one income stream” in order to be successful. If I want to increase my income by $10K, I should, “connect more on social media, and build a brand.” The movers and thinkers are too busy moving and thinking, and I can’t get anyone to stop and hear what I’m saying.

Life is a rat race.
Powerful voices are buried
amongst the noise.
It’s success purgatory,
and the only way to land
your dream job is to
jump through every hoop
thrown at you at 100 mph.

I am covered in shitty articles, up to my neck in “This isn’t what we’re looking for, but better luck next time” and the world is a spinning shit-bucket waiting for a cleansing only the strong can provide. I am losing strength.

How can I, in my exhausted state, be expected to hustle more? Whatever happened to one’s work speaking for them? Whatever happened to authenticity and vulnerability luring people in? There are so many look-alikes prancing around the literary industry, I have no clue where one stops and the other begins.

Influencers share their highs,
deny their lows, and request
immediate funds for the
video you just watched you
clicked on a whim.

This is the world in which
we live. It is a hustle culture,
and everyone’s trying to
out-hustle the other.
And for what?
Some shit you can’t take
to the grave with you?

I had a conversation with a journalist friend of mine who says he’s so tired of all the work he has to do in order to stay above water. Why are people with REAL talent drowning in “the sea of same”, pigeon-holed to what’s hot, trendy, and new, and if they even think about pivoting away from the metric, they’re given their walking papers? From where did this bottomless pit of pithy perturbation originate? Who signed the approval papers? I need to speak to their manager.

I’m not here for the hustle,
I’m here for the art.
If that stunts my potential
to fulfill my dream, I’ll
take those odds.

I’d rather share what’s in
my heart than to
cookie cutter my words
only to have some top-notch
editor pass them off as
suitable enough to catapult
their brand.

I’ve got my own voice,
and I’m using it.


Originally published on Medium.

Exhausted

A Rant

senseless violence
drawn by the hand of man.
when will we ever learn?
when will it ever get better?
children dying, people losing
their sense of self — 
all because power
is more important than life.

how will we get through
the grieving process if we’re 
continually grieving?
how will we heal if a wound
is torn open every few months?
why are we existing
if we cannot live
the lives laid before us?

when will power become
less of an asset versus
human life?

all of these questions
still have no answers,
but there are people
who can answer
all of these questions
yet they refuse
to do so accordingly.

and what will we have?
more lives lost,
more people grieving,
more wounds opened
when all we should
be doing is healing
and getting through life
as best as we can.

people say “Post-Pandemic Era” 
however, there are people
still dying from the Coronavirus.
there is no Post-Pandemic . . .
there is only now.
if we do not do something 
about where we are currently,
we will lose and
continue to lose all
aspects of our genuine selves.

and where will that
leave us?
cold, alone, despondent, irritable, 
frightful . . .

fearful of sending 
our children to schools,
fearful of going to shop
in our local grocery stores,
fearful of entering the temple.
when does it end?

this is not my America.
I do not feel at home here.
there is no place for
me here — no love.

how can I call a place home
when a person with a uterus
is punished for having one?

I’m sick and tired of being
sick and tired.
I’m sick and tired of
being sick and tired
I’m sick and TIRED OF BEING
SICK AND TIRED!

do something!


Originally published in soliloque via Medium.