self made by Magnus Weese-Grubb
This is a reflective piece from December of 2020. We'd been on lockdown for a fair bit at this point and honestly, it gave me too much to consider. Instead of staying up every night, pondering the same questions, I decided to turn all my worries into a poem. It just so happens that I was an employee of a company that didn't care about its workers at the same time (no I can't name them, sorry) and our CEO was making an insane paycheck while we got paycuts. The two combined into an amalgamation of my fears. This is that result.
“self made”
i can’t help / but laugh/ at the businessmen / in their clumsy suits/ with gilded words / as we / venerate them / as self-made./ they wouldn’t / not by a long shot / understand the real struggle / in which / a man / not even 12 years / of age, cries / real, back-breaking / tears over the dreaded / realisation that he, / too, is abnormal./ small business ownership / the truest form / of providing for / a family / pales in comparison / to those intramuscular / injections of life-giving / depression alleviating / genuine T. / not T as in tryptophan / an amino acid / yes i learned / other things /not trypophobia / the fear of holes / although / i could see / where it stems / not talisman / though gods / know i use mine / far too often. / ignore the profit. / millionaires have / nothing on me; / i built a name from / the ground up and / up and up. / signing a company / or firm / holds nothing / to the heady / secret bonfire / that is / reinventing reality / a new name / a new face / almost perfect / just gotta find / T / a knife / maybe two / perhaps three / most importantly / T / change the F / how much to / re embroider / two stockings? / do dogs / recognise deeper voices? / exchange but / make it vocal / not stocks / what’s the /market price of / T / of printing / new ID / the business men / could never understand.