
tiny and black
scavengers all
hunting scraps of sugar
an oasis of toddler’s crumbs
found
left under a window.
I wonder
what must it be like
to never celebrate individuality
or dance
or sing
or write
to only
ever
hunt
Do they see their servitude?
Or are they programmed
only to work?
About the Creator
Ellie Hoovs
Breathing life into the lost and broken. Writes to mend what fire couldn't destroy. Poetry stitched from ashes, longing, and stubborn hope.
My Poetry Collection DEMORTALIZING is out now!!!: https://a.co/d/5fqwmEb


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