Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Being Human

feeling desolate
in this space
where time meshes into the host of my debt.
uncertain slumber of rite; a net of collection.

why does it always come down to money;
to raise your hope
your praises
to make you feel like a good human,
a happy human?

justify me this feeling of incompleteness
because i don't have enough paper
to go around
taking away all the hands i owe.

is my life less valuable
because i cannot pay someone today?
is my life less valuable
since i don't have enough green to pay?

am i demeaned to sidewalk skids
and tire tread because I came up short?

how short of human am i since i have no green to give?
since when did paper interject itself into veins?
do needles blend it into the stream
of blood

there is no green in my blood.
i am not rich.
i am not paper.
i'm human.

~ Jessica M. Wilson
Wednesday, 10:04am

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