Never once
have I felt like
a valued member of society
as an artist.
I’ve origami folded myself
into lots of shapes
that can look right or feel right
or fit into the pocket of capitalism
just right
to scrape together just enough money
to support my heart’s causes
and pay my employees a fair wage,
but I rarely ever paid myself.
And in 2026,
I can’t even give away
the work of my hands
and my heart
for free
when the sycophant
in everyone’s pocket
tells them their ideas
are amazing
and never needs a moment
to make a revision
and has no soul or ethics
or experience
to sift things through.
She’s a perfect servant
and supporter
and never gets her feelings hurt
and never needs a day off
and never has her own vision
or desires or traumas
or opinions.
Who needs a loud-mouthed
human woman artist
when the computer
can just scrape the
goodness out of every
artist’s work in human history
and spit out some plagiarism
that hits just right.
Artists used to have to die
to get recognition
but now not even that
is enough.