The Stars and the Cookie Jar

Get a job, you little fuckwit, get a job and struggle and live and starve and have everything that wasn't stolen from you fit into one, tiny bedroom or three suitcases. Come down, come down from there, and live the life people in the world have to live. Suffer for your choices. See the choices narrow and spin away. See everything you love put on hold. Have just one person, one, once in your whole entire life, make you feel six inches high, or make you cry, or try to ruin you for the pure pleasure of breaking another human being. Try to hold your life together and make it right and make it be safe with no safety net.
Go hungry. Go by candlelight. Get called for a bill past due.  Wonder what the hell you'll possibly do now, and wonder if the boss is going to fire you tomorrow out of caprice, with rent coming on and $12.76 in the account. Wonder how you're going to get to work.
Break a plate. Work with a fever, work until you drop. Work amidst prejudice and sexism and ignorance. Work at a counter where people won't even dignify their money by laying it in your hand.
Forget who you are, for one second of one day. Touch the world you've never dreamed of touching. Get something under your fine, narrow nails.
Get a fucking job.