Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2020
I sit in a room with a pen and a pad,
Was called a failure by most,
I needed to show the potential I had.
The same people that turned into ghosts
Were the same who said they were glad
I never gave up, they were cheering me on. Thinking on my past, everyone was gone
No one wanted to see the levels I was thinking.
I'm sorry, I can never give up on dreaming.
If all this life is, is a nine to five,
I don't feel I am even alive.

You can work a soulless job, don't get me wrong,
Everybody needs some cash for food,
But working your life away seems wrong,
That concept isn't new.
They'll tell you life is all about money,
Material greed that keeps you running
Still the heart of your body wants something
Deep down you know the truth.

Your worth is only measured in printed paper
For someone to cut you down with later.
Week after week you get that paycheck
Still questioning if you have their respect,
Still questioning if you have self-respect.
Until the day, they need you, you don't need it.
However today, I sit with this pen
Digging deep for the inspiration
Not to quit.
Dream Fisher
Written by
Dream Fisher  26/M/Arizona
(26/M/Arizona)   
140
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems