Not truly Mine
I worked, I saved, I paid each dime,
Signed the deed—this house is mine.
Brick by brick, the walls stand tall,
But miss one tax, and I lose it all.
A home, they say, is earned, not loaned,
Yet the state still claims a piece I own, like a slum landlord.
Year by year, the dues must flow,
Or out I go — Is this really Freedom, Liberty and the pursit of hapiness?
As in owning my house, I become a slave,
Bound to this land, to work and behave.
No wandering far, no dreams to roam,
Just paying and paying to cling to this home.
Dollars I spend in my neighbor hood stores,
Used so they can pay their taxes—just like before.
A cycle unbroken, a system so tight,
Where freedom’s a myth, and continiuous paying is my right.
Am I silly or even a conspirationniste to think that is crazy? I tough I was free!
Or is the whole world just a slave arena for all—where you pay everyday for a fake freedom, to have the right to be a human on earth.
To question Freedom and fake property rights so twisted, so cruel,
That turns every owner into a slave?
I am crazy to think that way?
Now some might say, with voices bold,
“You must pay taxes, or so we’re told—
For roads, for schools, for things we need!”
But tell me, friend, do they succeed?
Are you happy with the roads you drive?
Do the schools help young minds thrive?
Is the infrastructure standing tall,
Or does it crack, crumble, and fall?
Look in the mirror—be honest, be true,
Do you want to pay for what they misdo?
Do you trust the hands that take your gold,
To spend it wisely, as you were told?
Or will they waste, will they deceive,
Pile up debt you’ll never relieve?
And when the well runs dry, guess what?
They’ll just demand more from your cut.
A house I own, yet not quite free,
Chained by a tax I cannot flee.
A never-ending, ruthless game—
Tell me now, is that not insane?
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Not Truly Mine was originally published in Coinmonks on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.