Sometimes,
I wake up to the sound of shattering
Dreams—not anyone's but mine,
And I don't even know why?
It's 3AM now,
And I can't sleep,
Why is it so tough to just breathe?

To breathe for an hour,
And I want that shine,
Even if it isn't mine,
Yet I can't reach.

It's not like I don't want to,
It's more like I can't do,
My skills, capabilities are weak,
Or you could also say that,
I'm weak.

The days feel heavy,
And the process is hard,
To maintain week by week,
Still I want to reach.

But to reach,
I need to breathe,
Not just for an hour,
But for a forever.

And sometimes,
This is the reality,
In which you have to breathe,
Not for a day,
Not for a week,
But for the homies,
Still, I want it to be—
a dream...
A shattering dream.

Look at you   all pantsy Fants and dah Dee la
Itching your teeth  drying your eyes   Wiring Some Cash
       and clicking your camara
                        a baby aimed for the world at large
                                   reformed gormless
                             and clean for fresh intelligence

Look at you   all lancing the breeze and cancer free
Bewitching the trials of your enemies  
financed and careering
a duchess with ease
on the leash of some tremendous villainy

Working 9-5 struggling to feel alive, yet the pleasures of the weekend call to me.

My manager treats me well, lets me live in a glorified prison cell, 4 walls and a lack of sunshine to get me by.

Because the bottom line was worth my talents being bought on the bottom dollar so my boss can afford another Porsche.

I spend my days in a relentless haze looking at a life that I wish I had. Restless and lacking an emotional albi, my head holds me back because my heart knows I've tried to find the map to success one too many times.

What I do know to be true is that all my thoughts lead me back to you and what we'd do if we lost it all tomorrow.

Because everything we own is borrowed yet our time is owed to pay our debts and drown our sorrows in the latest fashion and technology credit can buy.

All of this a countless scheme living in a capitalistic regime where the boss makes a dollar and I wish I had a dime.

When does this cycle end, what I would give to have my livelihood extend, instead of running a rat race against my will.

Not to be instruspective here, but at this rate you're already dead my dear and the light leaving my eyes is not to far behind.

So, I take my 2 weeks vacation a year and pride myself on facing my fears because if my routine were to ever break I'm not sure what else I'd find.

Let's raise our glasses and make a toast, to the cubicles we live in the most. May a workaholic's love never find me.

Last night my poem hit 10,000 degrees,
Does that mean I burned myself a place in HP?
Or am I still on the path of becoming,
Hoping to get a lucky stroke and blow up?
Almost everything I post gets a reaction now,
I'm a name people know,
But does that make me somebody though?
What if I'm an actor,
Just playing his part,
I'll disappear when the director yells, 'Scene!'
If my art is recognized,
I've accomplished something real,
While living a dream.
But I am author enough,
That I could have a career in this?
Or will I start this journey,
But hear them yell, 'Dismissed!'

I can make a career out of this,
Right?
I can do this for a living,
So many people do.
I'm paranoid,
But I think it's reasonable.
I've done this for so long,
Who will I even be,
Without it?

My mind has felt different recently.
It's not normal,
compared to people my age.
I shouldn't be this way.
I care about things my friends don't,
but they think they're empathetic.

They ignore the mssages
written on clothing tags,
but I'm wise enough not
to buy those clothes.

I have overwhelming dread
over my future and what to become.
But people say to relax
and let life take its course.
If I let life take me places,
it would take me to a mortuary.

She gives me mixed feelings.
a week ago, I thought no one wanted me alive,
but now she's able to look me in the eye.
I've noticed she laughs with me now.

Is it me or are people just being fake?

Here I am 5 years later.

I’m asleep but I dream about the stress of a job that I dreamed of years prior. I cry over a job that I once cried in passion for. I think about the job just as much as I did those years ago, but for different reasons.

Today is an exact reflection of what you were thinking five years ago, someone said to me. It was all a thought you had five years ago. It made me happy, yes- emotional, too. But I wonder how much of that emotion was indeed for my accomplishments in that time frame. Did I feel unsettled, like I had seen the accumulation of five years of seemingly wasted efforts?

But I love my job, I tell myself. This is who you were meant to be, others tell me.

Do I exaggerate as I write this? Surely.
but that small voice I’ve been burying seems to be finding some confidence as of late. Or maybe it has always been there, just growing concerned for me?

It’s okay, I’ll figure it out.