Unequal
A villanelle that laments about income inequality, inflation and the struggle between working class and the elites.
All day I fight, I press and now profess
Today I gasp and gulp with each new tear.
I stretch, I squeeze, do more, live less. I stress.
My needs this cash alone cannot suppress.
The price of rent and food does climb; I fear.
All day I fight, I press and now profess.
You're black or brown or poor they do confess.
To race, to class, to that we’re blind I hear.
I stretch, I squeeze, do more, live less. I stress.
In wealth, excess, they live while I distress.
But push and press like us and see they jeer.
All day I fight, I press and now profess.
Lazy, I sit and sleep all day, they guess.
Instead, I fade away each day from here.
I stretch, I squeeze, do more, live less. I stress.
Collapse right here at work I lay, a mess
Find one to work in place of him, they sneer.
All day I fight, I press and now profess.
I stretch, I squeeze, do more, live less. I stress.
About the Creator
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmasa day ago in Horror
Comments (1)
The formatting may not come across this way, but the poem has five tercets and one quatrain at the end.