Dear Capitalism, I wanted to love you.

But I just can’t try anymore.

I’m going to be honest with you. I was shallow and you were beautiful. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of your glass towers that tickle the clouds and your 11,000 square foot LED screens. I would curl up next to your early-twenty-somethings-owned startup incubators for an entire weekend, just breathing in all those sweet sweet unicorn dreams. I seriously don’t know what I would do without all the perfectly styled and primped influencers on Instagram. It’s like you knew me before we even met. The problem is, you’ve known me for a while and have been watching me very closely most of my adult life…and that is slightly creepy.

I’m old enough to remember you before you got so damn good at your job. You used to throw a bunch of catchy tunes or pictures of smiling faces or cartoon bunnies at the wall of my heart and hope that something would stick. You’re so different now. I’m really starting to question your intentions. I bought a 5 lb bag of gummi bears a couple months ago and you keep trying to give me another one even while I searched for reviews of nearby dentists. You tried 12 times today to sell me something by showing me two gorgeous people making out, and none of those products were lip balm.

But I was willing to look past this. I could resist your tactics and I willingly gave you all the information I’m complaining that you know. I had a good reason. See, I felt strongly for a long time that you had a greater purpose. You could lift all of our lives out of mediocrity and into a financial, medical, and technological bliss. Your highly competitive spirit would be the spark that ignites the piston that pushes our societal limits (in a good way).

Unfortunately, that’s not what you’re doing, and it hurts. We could have been so good together. Instead of you working tirelessly to make constant improvements and earn my love with quality, care, and attention to detail, you decided to increase your bottom line by outsourcing, manipulating legislation, and creating monopolies that destroy everything I thought we were working so hard towards. Lots of people want to blame the government, but we know who is really in charge here. We are just extras in the movie that you’re directing from a 6 ft chair made out of hundred-dollar bills.

You keep taking the easy way out and you know it. You aren’t even ashamed anymore. You went as far as to put one of your posterchildren in the highest office of the United States. All this time, I thought I could trust you. I thought I could love you. It’s clear that we are from different planets and now that you’re in charge of space travel, I doubt we'll ever be together again.

Yours,

Omari Akil


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