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Antiwork

I wrote a poem at work: The American Dream

When I was a kid, I was told about the American Dream. A dream where the streets were paved with gold. A dream where people can be like King Midas – Turn their rags to riches With just a little bit of elbow grease. But I have a question: Who’s dream is it? Is it the landlord's dream, Because his tenants are paying $1,200 for a one-bedroom apartment? Is it the loan servicer's dream, Because the college student just got shackled with $40,000 in debt? Is it the one percenters dream, Because 40 million people are living in poverty? When I was a kid, I was told to college so I could see the world. But the world came closing in around me. My student debt became the walls of a 6X6 cubicle. I am so tired of living in other people’s pockets. I am told that my labor and…


When I was a kid,

I was told about the American Dream.

A dream where the streets were paved with gold.

A dream where people can be like King Midas –

Turn their rags to riches

With just a little bit of elbow grease.

But I have a question: Who’s dream is it?

Is it the landlord's dream, Because his tenants are paying $1,200 for a one-bedroom apartment?

Is it the loan servicer's dream,

Because the college student just got shackled with $40,000 in debt?

Is it the one percenters dream,

Because 40 million people are living in poverty?

When I was a kid,

I was told to college so I could see the world.

But the world came closing in around me.

My student debt became the walls of a 6X6 cubicle.

I am so tired of living in other people’s pockets.

I am told that my labor and time are productive.

Funny, I do not see the profits.

My nine-to-five just paid for a trip to the Bahamas.

I hope you took pictures.

So, I can see what it was like.

I just topped off my gas tank on my commute to work.

It paid for a Tesla. I hope it saves the planet.

My living expenses covered the down payment on a penthouse.

I hope the view is great,

And it’s not an inconvenience to look down on me,

Living in your slum.

When I was a kid,

I was told to pull myself up by my bootstraps.

Funny, I think mine are tied together

Because whenever I try and get ahead,

I fall on the floor of my one-bedroom apartment,

With rent knocking at my door.

My heart is racing, and I can’t catch my breath,

But I can’t go to the doctor.

I am trying to make ends meet.

When I was a kid,

I put my hand over my heart to the words:

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave,

But I don’t think that brave is synonymous with impoverished.

I don’t think that there is valor in surviving day after day.

When I was a kid,

I was told about the American Dream,

But lately, I have had sleepless nights,

Staring at my ceiling – Afraid to fall asleep.

The American Dream is the monster beneath my bed.

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