End Game: A Poetic Reckoning

This poem is about the weight of stolen creativity, systemic inequality, and the silence forced on those most marginalized. It’s a reckoning, a declaration, and a visual picture of frustration and resilience.

“End game”

Paying artist who live in poverty

 for published 

creativity.

K

N

O

W

I

N

G

history stole from the likes of us. ..

Those most used to 

         others

taking… figurative 

remote

    Controls

                    L

                        I

                            C k

                                I

                                 N 

                                    G

                         mute.

Voiceless & 

left 

to

suffer in 

i

l

e

n

c

e

.

Misery, I guess,

doesn’t get company

unless it’s 

misery experienced 

                By

         one  

Significantly more 

                           P.R.I.V.I.L.E.G.E.D. 

than 

       the 

               likes

       of me or you.

a fate I

wouldn’t wish 

          on an enemy.

A life stuck to never escaping 

poverty

Look at that! 

they

a

k

e

the boot off their neck,

press it

into yours

and still claim

they’re a

victim 

’cause OHHH-nooooo,

look,

he thinks human worth

works on 

hierarchy…

Bet

I

get the   

LAST

  A

       U

           G

                H.

-An Axton N.O. Mitchell original

In the end, survival isn’t close to quiet. Justice isn’t near polite. The final laugh isn’t soft, but it’s deliberate, loud, and well-overdue. This poem is a reminder that even when history and systems try to erase us, our voices, our work, and our defiance endure.