Having stolen a crumb of bread,
You get branded a thief.
Also that crumb speaks volumes of you,
That you are a dirty filthy rat,
With rags on your back,
Soaked in the stench of your own urine,
You personify failure.
People don’t glorify failure
You reek of it. Are judged by it,
They think you have no skill no trade,
Made bad decisions which landed you here in the first place
You lack discipline, as wayward as the wind,
Don’t fit the meritocracy of todays aristocracy.
Different thing if you didn’t have the opportunity
Ask a person sinking in a bog to try stand and walk.
Like it were easy without a lifeline,
The world cares that you must be lazy.
The rest of us need expensive psychotherapy to deal with our traumas
And a good deal of Prozac to make us happy again
You must do with sheer will power
And will yourself out of this situation.
Perhaps, only perhaps, if you stole a crown,
They would celebrate you a king,
Celebrate your intelligence, your foresight, your ability to outwit,
Why not? Everybody would want to be like you.