What drew you to this job?
I lie and say
I’ve always been passionate about textiles
Like the pretentious clothing this company creates
My answer is carefully tailored to appeal to my market audience
Yesterday I was passionate about data entry
Tomorrow I’ll be passionate about customer retention and management
I’ve learnt to lick the boot that pins me down in place
What does your dream job look like?
I don’t bother telling them that I no longer dream of labour
I recite the appropriate buzzwords
Sense of progression
Bile rises in my throat
What do you hope to achieve in life?
My father wasted away his best years in a job that landed him in hospital
A heart attack and redundancy payout all the thanks he got
All so he could eventually retire and do what he actually loved; woodworking
He’d never been able to make a career of it
He couldn’t find a ‘market’ for it
Maybe it was because he never learnt to market himself, to sell himself
Not in that sense
Instead he sold himself
He sold his body to a timber mill
Maybe he thought it would be temporary
But then he had to give up his woodworking
Because working the wood at the mill left him exhausted
He had to sell his soul for decades until the system finally let him be
I want something different than what the system offers
But there is no alternative to the system
It offers me 50 flavours of consumption
32 different shades of participation
But no option not to consume
Not to participate
I no longer have lofty ideals
When I was young I wanted to be a famous writer
I wanted to travel and see the world
Now I just want to exist
But even my very existence comes at a cost
To merely exist I am still expected to participate
To consume and be consumed
Sell myself to whoever will pay
for what little I have to offer
Thank you for your time
Creativity is a coping mechanism for those disillusioned by the reality
love just isn’t like how it is in movies
reality is harsh,
like an unexpected gust of icy wind
there’s no sheltering from it
i watched a romance movie and now i'm back to reality i'm feeling let down by the truth that is this world...
Far across the water sits a little Chinese man,
who has his own ideas of life's most desired plan.
On the other side of the ocean is yet another guy,
whose plan doesn't agree with a Chinese minds eye.
Petty is their game but they just don't see it so,
and so they push each other in a destructive to and fro'.
Two school boys being bullies is the policy that they choose,
Both belligerent and stubborn, both determined not to lose.
Surely they must see that the other guy wont ever give in.
Preferring total destruction over allowing the other guy to "win".
They cant see that neither side will ever accept to give,
Both intent to destroy it all than allow us all to live.
All can see it coming but no one dares make a sound,
until the mark of mankind's passing is just craters in the ground.
Xi Jinping... Donald Trump... for **** sake... grown up. The world is reliant on you guys being sane and sensible. You must know there is only one place the road you are currently following leads. Losing for everyone isn't the right course. Reach out a hand and change the future.
And with just one word,
I watched as my dreams crashed down,
unable to hold
when life's harsh realities
beat down on their fragile frames.
May is the month of tankas and ten words, I guess.
Purple radiant heat
Reality has received;
Testing teapots and
Shattered on the wood floors
For days upon hours;
The nape of the neck
Where yours should be
Pulsating the prophetic
Home is a verb, the
Deception of defeat
And the drip drip drip
Of disillusioned ichor
Once again, I follow The Old Road.
It’s a way paved and trodden long
ago by steps as disillusioned as
mine, and as blinded by the milky
fog filling lungs like frigid smoke.
When we’re lost, we believe it’s the
swollen feet and crooked spine and
chattering teeth and the burning mind
that are our ailments.
But time is our disease, ill spent and
driven off and engulfed while expecting
something different, something more,
for promises not made.
All the while death sings its ageless
lullaby louder and louder until the
only promise ever kept thrusts
the dusty sting.
But I won’t learn. I refuse to
Once again, I follow The Old Road.
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet
I often write my poems while listening to songs on repeat, and the two I had playing during this one was "Oh Death" by Noah Gundersen and "In The Woods Somewhere" by Hozier. Check them out!
And I tagged this poem as time management because, as great as actual practicable techniques and tactics and strategies are, sometimes you just need to be inspired to stop hanging on in quiet desperation (despite it being the English way).