For a painful amount of weeks I was unemployed, on the dole and sleeping in a kitchen. Being at the bottom of the pecking line looking up at where you should be makes you realise how ridiculous the double chins of society can look like. Unemployment can fuck off, and so can all those boring bosses who expect quality but can’t spell it.
This poem is dedicated to the 1.6 million individuals in this country without a job.
I hope you enjoy my words.
It hangs round your neck like a debt of regret that you can’t shake off,
You become part of that statistic, an easy cryptic,
One of those no-hopers, had an interview but missed it
Dope smoking life-long jokers.
But I’m not a joker, I’m deadly serious,
I can’t even afford dope these days ‘cos my funds are imperious.
Whoever coined the phrase funemployment was an idiot,
I’m walking the streets of London like a pirate walks a plank,
I’m all lucked out, got no gas in the tank,
Spend hours looking for jobs through the cracks
Of my battered laptop screen getting nothing but emails
Rejecting my pleas just to be another cog in the machine.
“While you demonstrated some of the skills we were looking for
We regret to inform you that you have been unsuccessful in your application.”
Well how many skills do you need to stack shelves for the steady income
Households of the nation?
I’m trapped in the undervalued percentage of stagnation,
Sainsbury’s won’t even give me a job, I’m desperation.
If I was told at school that an above average IQ would have got you on the dole
I would have demanded an explanation,
I had high hopes at graduation now I’m swimming
Through rejection letters of low level aspirations.
Unemployment is bullshit.
I’m running out of patience,
We’re living in a down-beat generation,
I’m looking for Gatsby’s green light navigation
And getting nowhere,
I’m starting to feel as if I don’t care.
This is a BAD PLACE for hopeful youths,
We are the future, struck down by home truths,
From judging eyes that pry into our lives
Saying that we have no excuse, well alright Atticus,
Put yourself in my shoes,
They got holes in, and when it rains
They get soaked through,
I turn up for interviews wearing borrowed clothes
Pretending to give a shit about poaching eggs on sourdough
To Yummy Mummy’s who don’t know what it feels like
To be so low.
Unemployment is seeping into the pores of my saturated life,
I’m starting to see the appeal of being a stay at home wife,
But I know I’m better than that,
I’ve got wise cracks, Individual Thrills.
I’d impress any employer if they just looked past my life skills.
You see, we live in modern times and its a useless odyssey,
We’re journeying through overpriced business commodities,
Seeing celebrities in the media lacking modesty
I’d do anything for a job, honestly.
I’d even lick toilet lids clean if I was paid more than £5 an hour,
I know I’m disposable, you have the power,
Just allow me some dignity in my lowest paid hour,
‘Cos that’s the problem with this world, people are greedy
They don’t appreciate talent when they see it, so I’m needy.
I will do anything not to feel like a layabout,
I know I’m down and out
But don’t me in the same box as those wasters
Who hang about popping kids out for benefits,
I’ve got big dreams, let me be on your team
I don’t want to be a loser,
I’m trying to live like Zarathustra,
Living life with everything I can muster,
But the wind’s are never blowing in my direction
I’m having a bluster,
I’m loitering in the unlucky cluster.
I haven’t got a fucking job don’t remind me,
I can’t even finish this poem ‘cos of all the monkey’s behind me.
I’m out of words,
I’m out of rhymes,
I’m worrying about my place in the pecking line.
I’m a product of degeneration before my sell by date,
May as well waste my fucking time.