Get Your Premium Membership

Lost in the Hustle

Clock in, clock out Wake, commute, work, sleep, repeat They say I'm making a living But where in this equation am I alive? Traded my sunrise for spreadsheets My sunset for status reports My laughter for leader boards My dreams for direct deposits We're all running on this hamster wheel Spinning faster just to stay in place "Success" measured in square footage And vacation days we're too exhausted to take They sold us a promise: Work hard now, live later But later keeps getting pushed back Like a horizon we never reach When did we agree That breathing means producing? That existing means earning? That value equals output? My grandmother's hands knew real work Soil under fingernails, calluses with purpose She worked to live I live to work The system whispers: "Just one more promotion" "Just one more year" "Just one more sacrifice" While life slips through fingers Clutching paychecks Making a living What a curious phrase As if living itself Is something manufactured Something we must earn the right to do I want to make a life instead Rich with moments that don't fit on resumes Abundant with connections no algorithm can track Wealthy with experiences no bank can hold Because making a living Without actually living Is the most expensive purchase We never meant to make.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2025




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Reflection on the Important Things