I must get back to my desk again, this lunchtime has flown by,
And all I ask is that if I’m late, I won’t catch the boss’s eye;
And if I’m ill and white as a sail with limbs and body shaking,
And I call in sick (third time this month), my boss won’t think I’m faking.

I must get back to my desk again, and complete my tasks with pride.
Because if I don’t, I’m pretty sure my leave request will be denied;
And all I ask is that someday it’s acknowledged I’ve been trying,
And I get the promotion for which Smith and Jones are vying.

I must get back to my desk again, to the constant corporate strife,
I hope and pray my meagre pay can feed my obese kids and wife;
And all I ask is that today, the ****** printer won’t keel-over,
And that retirement comes swiftly, so this nightmare can be over.

Eyes glancing over terms
For which I care not
Mind trying to memorize
Definitions of things
So small you cannot see
With the human eye
If I could do anything else
I would
But no choice has been given to me
I must learn
What I have been told
And nothing else
Why can't we learn
Things no one ever thinks of
Why can't we figure out
Why spontaneous generation
Doesn't exist
For ourselves
Or write
Whatever we want
And explore what works
And what doesn't
Instead what we discover
Has been laid out for us
A skeleton of information
Today's form of education
Why must we do things we hate
And waste our precious time on things we don't care about
When we could focus on
Something we are passionate for
And could become successful at
No child who is passionate about swimming
Is going to revolutionize the world of construction
No one who loves cooking
Is going to change the finical industry
People will go above and beyond
What is asked of them
If they love
What they do
So why don't we let them?
The world would have amazing increases and discoveries
In every field
So many people wouldn't hate their jobs
Or their co-workers
If they were all enthusiastic about their career
If we allowed people to focus
On their passions
But
We don't
So
My eyes glance over the terms
For which I care not
Mind trying to memorize
Definitions of things
So small you cannot see
With the human eye
If I could do anything else
I would

but doesn't it seem weird
that we expect
high school
students to know
exactly what they're
going to do
for the rest of their
lives?

i can do anything.

She stands tall and slender like poetry
Her eyes hard as steel 
Her face a mask of sovereignty 
She's seen it all in her industry 

Outwardly she appears calm
Don't be fooled by her charms 
Her mannerisms are her keeping
Don't overstep your line. 

She's fought a hard battle 
Laid claim to the highest throne
She's driven out the competition 
But now she stands alone

At what cost comes success
The sacrifice of sanctity 
The loss of integrity 
A woman fighting in a man's world
Play by the rules or risk your dignity

The fall from grace will be so steep
One she'd rather not see coming
So she dances while she can
Her ballerinas grace has u enchanted 

When the time for the show is over
When the curtains r drawn and the lights are dimmer
She takes off her mask and weep miserably 
She has only loneliness
To keep her company

"Is it a crime to have some faith in me?"

Eat.
Work.
Sleep.

Repeat.

Security. Stability.
But at what cost?

I am lost
for words
for feelings
for everything in between you and what could be
for all that cannot be.

I am lost
in your eyes
in this confusion
in this complicated mix of delusions and false reassurances
in my own dreams and goals.

There are still a lot of things I need to prove
to you
to everyone else
and most especially, to myself.

Coming home from a fair,
cusped between your lap
a globe of darting eyes,
your hands rested atop
the thin film of a world
as you endlessly peer in.
Are you scrying over
your future career?

Here a tungsten bulbous
body, a chunk of flame,
swills itself in spins
and mindless dances,
as you think you could
be so careless like them
to live hazily in a framed
bubble of treasured youth,

fed by some divine fate
looking over you. Golden
scales make your skin,
binds you as if you were
a chocolate in a wrapper
for people to circus over–
every flicker being edible.
Or maybe you're like

those tinned peach slices,
posing in a cage for all  
as a marvel to feast with
until you end up rotting,
there in your tomb-space,
muttering an open mouth,
“help me” before they serve
you up on a silver-lined dish.

I assure you, you'll forget
these childish thoughts
of aspirations and dreams
sooner than you think:
no matter how much
you think they want you,
I'll bet they'll let yourself
drown in coming weeks.