Being Human

Being human, being a fighter!

Being Human 

Being human is to be born on a working day— 

Amidst sledges and wedges and the grind of wages, laid there, bare! 

Your father is in the factory, sweating to the bone, 

Your mother must first get those bills paid, 

Or your first night might be on the streets. 

Sometimes, you’re born on a day of absence, 

Your father locked away, has been locked away since your conception, 

He won’t be home for your birthday. 

You’re the baby, you’re the hope, they call you the man of the house, 

But they lie—this house belongs to the banks. 

Being human is to live contemplating: 

Why is survival a battle? 

Why does fear nest so easily in your heart? 

What is it about the world that seems afraid of your existence, 

Yet demands everything from you? 

Your history fades ingloriously, quietly erased, 

What remains, they discard as irrelevant or inconvenient. 

Even your own often turn away, 

Ashamed of the struggle that birthed their present. 

You’re here, human and fragile, 

While fate conspires with forces unseen 

To keep you bound, unseen, dethroned. 

Opportunities judge you with a harsh finality, 

The system condemns you without a word. 

Yet from this loitering chaos, you’ve learned, 

Learned that to be human is to rise first from ashes— 

To wear your scars as a testament. 

You’ve learned to breathe, to stand, 

To find strength in what was once despair. 

Being human is to be born on a fighting day, 

Gloves wrapping your knuckles, 

Legs bracing, warming up for the ring, 

No roaring crowd tonight—just shadows of doubt. 

But you begin to jab, to fight, or else die. 

All your life, you’re jabbing, you’ve jabbed; 

Fighting for the right to live, to hope, to dream. 

And so, I say—keep jabbing. 

Keep fighting for your crown, 

Keep finding your crown. 

EzroniX Poetry