Let’s storm the corporate castles
and make our meaning
from the world that already exists within this one —
the world in which the poems and paintings
and portraits and plants
count for something far more
than cash can ever provide —
the world in which our caring
is cause for celebration,
not another fucking commodity —
the world in which we take unlearning
productivity, perfectionism, and patriarchy
as seriously as we once took
wondering
whether we looked cute enough to leave the house.
P.S. Dig poems? My book of poetry is pay-what-you-can priced.
(Also! What you see burning in the featured image is a mix of everyday herbs similar to what would have been used by my way-back-wise-women ancestors. The bundle was gifted to me by Bear Hebert, whom I interview about anti-capitalist business practices here.)
