Starving Artist

I never thought I’d be a starving artist...literally

Bread and Circuses by Chad Glass

This is being published by Bards Against Hunger!!!

I never thought

I’d be a starving artist

Literally

I always knew I’d be a writer

But I envisioned book sales

And success

Energizing days ending

In the arms of an

Equally successful lover

A comfortable picket fence life

Now I pick bones from my pockets

Watch as numbers

Drain rapidly out of my accounts

Run up debt ‘cause I can’t afford care

Stress over the imminent loss

Of my car

Dodge calls from creditors

If cash is king

Credit is queen

We’re playing chess

Not checkers

If you know what I mean

And the game is rigged

I’m forced to choose between

My cat’s food and my own

Toilet paper or paying my phone

Sanity or vanity

I ration food to survive

Starve my body to fit into old clothes

Into old beauty standards

Work myself 40 hours a week

To take care of homeless queers

And then push myself 40 more

To meet all my goals

All while not taking care of myself

This isn’t the life I envisioned

This isn’t living

Is it worth…living?

When I can’t afford to exist anymore

I thought I was solid

Middle class once

My pockets padded with trust money

The world mine for the gamble

But the ground fell out

From under me

I know I’m not alone in my suffering

We all scramble and slave away

For starvation wages

Panting parched at the tap

Waiting for just a drop

Of the promised trickle down

While the rich drink their fill

And let the rest spill

Better for the soil

To greedily soak up the rest

Than satiate the poor

The Capitol rations resources

So we don’t turn the tables

On their stolen treats

They gorge on our flesh

And feed on the fruit of our labor

A lavish feast fit for

The Hunger Games

But if we stand the game ends

We’re all a couple missed paychecks

Away from the streets

Or a friend’s couch

You think you’re better

Than the homeless?

They thought so once too

They too dream of being artists

But only have the sky as a canvas now

Their pleas for help, their poetry

But their audience is

Quiet and unforgiving

Turns away from their suffering

And it’s all I can do

To translate their message

So that everyone will hear

My stomach rumbling

My head filled with fear

I do the only thing I can

I sit down and write

Until the candle burns out

And me along with it

Until my words are the only

Sustenance I have left

Nothing else can feed me now

I write until my words eat me too

And still…they are starving