You work full-time and still drown. That’s not failure. That’s design.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Clock in. Clock out.
Repeat until eviction.
Minimum wage isn’t a starter salary.
It’s a sentence.
A slow, silent bleed from your time to their profit margin.
You weren’t lazy.
You weren’t irresponsible.
You weren’t unskilled.
You were underpaid by a system
that calls $7.25 survival
and $725 billion in corporate profit “hard-earned.”
They say “budget better”
while groceries double
rent triples
and your second job wants weekends too.
You don’t need another side hustle.
You need a system that doesn’t
treat labor like a donation
and humans like disposable inventory.
This is poverty with a schedule.
This is exhaustion with a dress code.
This is capitalism in uniform.
Write. Laugh. Hope.
Because what the hell else is there?
