the ATM
for anyone who feels like they give their all to loved ones and gets nothing in return...
you insert the card to take what is supposedly yours,
not realizing the source of it all
had i not left the most convenient location for you to have me
i'd be stripped of everything
some ATMs charge a fee
but here I am, broken yet free
Reflection
This poem explores the feeling of being used by those we love most. Like an ATM, we make ourselves available, convenient, always ready to give what others need. But unlike a machine, we feel the depletion, the emptiness that comes from constant giving without receiving. The final lines offer a glimmer of hope—sometimes being "broken" means being free from the cycle of endless giving.