Cashback

Told me I couldn’t just lay in bed all day—

Money rules, and from where they stood, I lack.

So I had to get my ass up,

Start sending out resumes, printed and sent—

Now suddenly I couldn’t even keep track.

It was a regular Tuesday when they called,

Phone ringing in that irritating way.

Swear I almost folded,

Almost didn’t pick up.

But anyway—

“Hmm...hello?”

“I’m calling from [Company], looking for Awonke Zoya.”

“Speaking...”

Must’ve still been deep in sleep,

Until I heard: “I’ll send you the email with the details—does this work for you?”

“Uhm...sure.”

Couldn’t even remember the convo.

I was dead asleep—she must’ve heard me snore.

Grandma said I need to visit church more—

Pray for salvation.

But something about that road smells like damnation.

If you’re empty-handed, they call it grace,

Then steal from your pockets

And leave you to starve with a smile on your face.

They tell me to be grateful.

After all, I’m just another melanated kid,

No privilege,

No heaven on earth—

We can’t all be Caucasian.

Anyway—

I pulled up to that interview looking unprepared,

Like a lost kid skipping aftercare.

Clock ticking.

I’m anxious.

A pen.

A paper.

A handshake.

Sealed the deal.

Wait—what did I just sign?

Think I just sold my soul.

The deal was:

Wake up every day,

Give away your time and energy

While they get richer.

You? You get a little cashback.

But based on the labour required,

That ain’t even a lick back.

This world ain’t give-and-take.

It’s take-and-take.

Tit-for-tat?

Nah, it’s whip-for-back.

They say you reap what you sow—

Well, my seeds were undeniable.

But what I reaped?

Unbelievable.

If anything,

Life is just

Being constantly

Screwed

Over.

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