Along with my last breath,
Like so many other middle-class men,
I am grappling with death,
When I should be telling myself instead,
'You are not middle class',
Maybe your parents clawed their way to it,
But the world has changed and it's missed your grasp,
You will find out in the coming summers,
And the climbing degrees,
Even those who are now legit ok,
No value in money,
Except for those,
With so much, it's like air,
They breathe it in, inside protective domes,
Then scoff at those who say the world's not fair.
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