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This isn’t the most noble occupation for a political compass ball, it’s just something that makes you feel muted and small. Unfortunately, though, the market is alive, and no one, not even you can kill that drive.
Stress ball. You’re a stress ball. Last time Nazi took you out his drawer, it was a close call. He was stressed, mad, angry after a nasty phone call, and again, you were his alternative to alcohol. Bitter, irate, were the emotions he held in his face as he squished you and squashed you, stripping you from your grace.
At one point, he let his sweat hold you to his hand and let his arm on the table land, as if that’d bring back his homeland. You couldn’t say anything, as you didn’t have a mouth, so none of your pleas could save the situation from going south.
Some days, the fash would simply roll you on his table, for no reason other than that he was able. He’d roll you back and forth while he scrolled through 4chan, trying desperately to prove the internet he was truly a man.
Being a thought isn’t easy, especially if you’re marketable. That’d make morality trivial, even if the actions were unpardonable. Progressivism, an easy pick for antisemitism.
Stress ball, you’re a stress ball. Above all, very weak and small.