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#workaholic
You wake up. Immediately, you check your phone. The amount of things to do is unbearable, But you have to get it done anyway. Why? You don't know. You start doing the work by yourself, No one there to help you yet. As always. You have to do everything alone. Why? You don't know. You finish the work And you feel empty. You HAVE to do something, anything. Why? You don't know. You're completely burnt out, They ask you if you're okay. You're not. Why? You don't know.
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Jan 1, 2025
Jan 1, 2025 at 8:33 AM UTC
Workaholic
Colour-coded lists with satisfying check marks Tally for self-worth score Free time is a dead wasteland Work compulsion conquers all Work is my saviour Proof that I have use Grateful for the gift of structured daily toil I don’t need a break I am far too strong I am made to stand in any roaring storm Endlessly on point I cannot relax Maybe I should take a class in calming down Another degree Major in stillness Minor in poems, music, walks and gardens What happens to me While I do ‘leisure’? What will I be worth when I take time for me? When days are rough at work, and heat is high My self-esteem is carried by a role To prove each working day that I am fine And value comes from actions to assist At frantic pace that slowly dents my soul Beware when job and self strong-overlap Identity is blank beyond my job Then molehills swell to snowy mountain range Allotments to sheep stations in my mind And working day and night a sleeve-worn slog Befogged in role, befuddled in self-worth In muddled shame, obscured by guilt and fear With added slow fatigue and hopelessness And where do your needs end, and mine begin? All rules of world and life become unclear Learn to take time off Negotiate with myself New type of self-worth Creative time, open field Discovery nurtures all
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Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 1:26 AM UTC
Work for your life
With Goal in the  mind you focus your card,   Forgetting days nights and working so hard, What ever has come in the target your way, You have always strived to keep it at bay. Resources are albeit but skimpy and low. You Seldom get worry and never  you bow. While eating and moving or going for walk, You put your attention on measures you talk. Virtues that you own not common in mass, Seldom are found and   tough to surpass. Perhaps  is the reason why I have regard, Your focus certainly deserves this reward. But often  I doubt your fire your zeal, Queries comes to mind this what I feel. Is it your passion that makes you work hard? Or Else is pushing you jumping the  yard? Since I have also seen a victim  a prey, In forest jumps hard when  lion on way. Just see if guilt,Fear , doubt and remorse? are not controlling your action of course? Ajay Amitabh Suman All Rights Reserved
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Dec 11, 2021
Dec 11, 2021 at 9:46 PM UTC
What Drives Your Life
Hi, you have reached the voicemail box of Syreena Phelps. I am either working, sleeping, or too depressed to answer the phone. Leave your name, number, and a reason for me to live, and I'll get back to you as soon as I am mentally able. Thanks!
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Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 2:48 PM UTC
*beep*
Between judging the good and the dead, I lose myself in the cacophony of lies, made my men, Amid the hustling and jostling of interests, lies and deceit I scream! my voice is muffled by a black cloth, which covered eyes of Themis, now unfurled, tied my voice, So, none can hear, my cries, I am a man, I have a spirit, my bliss cannot live in lies and deceit! I lose myself, split of a second, A place where I find solace for my heart, Split second of servitude for God, And that is enough! To lead me away from temptations! I look at men in blood, fresh, for petty wealth, and I see God! I look at black coats, standing for Good and evil for wealth, and I see God! Who am I to judge? I see and witness unfurling of time, and my mind rests at His foot! For all is lights and shadow! I am at peace, being a witness of His work. Om Tat Sat! © Saurya 7th Jan 21
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Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 1:47 AM UTC
Sitting by robes of Raguel
I like being busy There's no surprise in that, It's the only way to survive and make the voices quiet that argue in my head. I like being busy It's the only way I've known, To burry down those feelings That keep on surfacing on their own. I like being busy I enjoy being burnt out Because that's how I muffle the agony from the bleeding cut. I don't want a moment of silence Because that's when The voices in my head are The loudest. They Mourne, they agonize, they miss, They sympathize. And then all I have is this burning feeling which is The darkest.
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Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
I like being busy
Trapped inside her mind. There are a million different doors. All of them are locked. None of them can fix her catastrophic thoughts. Only she knew the extent of her limitations. But she didn't want to disappoint, so she kept on doing more. All these tasks pushed her past her breaking point. Little did she know, Kindness was the poison rooted deep inside in her mind. All alone. There she goes. Watch her soul float away. Now she no longer feels any pain.
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Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
No More Pain
That workaholic lady who's always on call, keeping up with the market fall. That newly married lady with chunky red bangles, returning to her father's big castles. That person who's scared to get lapse, so stays active on the google maps. That person who swings like a kid at the back door, Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor. That next door girl with a red lipstick, flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique, That dreamer gazing outside the window, That overworked soul dozing on his elbow. That 21st century kid, listening to Eminem & playing video games. Or That 90’s kid, listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games. That banker with a big fat stomach, filled with his beautiful wife’s love. That lady who eats like a thief, in her big fat bag hiding a beef. That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns. That granny spotting & criticing  every fashion trends. That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns, thinking & chanting for earns & returns. Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield, in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field. That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial, than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central, & tryna stay sane listening to George Michael. That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy, when the masses flee into the scenery. That trader crunching numbers so rapidly, when the stock prices go down hourly. That person on the last seat, diagressing from work & gazing around, soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.
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Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
Your's truly, Travelogue.
That workaholic lady who's always on call, keeping up with the market fall. That newly married lady with chunky red bangles, returning to her father's big castles. That person who's scared to get lapse, so stays active on the google maps. That person who swings like a kid at the back door, Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor. That next door girl with a red lipstick, flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique, That dreamer gazing outside the window, That overworked soul dozing on his elbow. That 21st century kid, listening to Eminem & playing video games. Or That 90’s kid, listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games. That banker with a big fat stomach, filled with his beautiful wife’s love. That lady who eats like a thief, in her big fat bag hiding a beef. That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns. That granny spotting & criticing  every fashion trends. That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns, thinking & chanting for earns & returns. Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield, in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field. That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial, than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central, & tryna stay sane listening to George Michael. That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy, when the masses flee into the scenery. That trader crunching numbers so rapidly, when the stock prices go down hourly. That person on the last seat, diagressing from work & gazing around, soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.
Continue reading...
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Tonight i'm so tired That i let out a loooooonngg sigh And let a tear fall
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Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 12:17 PM UTC
Let it out
Sheets of white piling up on my desk Red alerts with red flags flooding my mail The little ping, ping, ping of incoming messages from various correspondents Demanding my attention "You should learn to say no; stop doing everything by yourself." Once, my insides would clench and I'd feel like I'd been Kicked in the shin whenever I see something that reminds me of you But now, search as I might, I can no longer see your face Even down memory lane, you've vanished as suddenly as you did in reality Other events flow like running water, with the clarity of a clear lake Yet when I try to recall the words you said It was as if a mischievous kid decided to mess with the tap On; off. On... off. On... off. On; off. A buffering in my mind like chopped up notes of a song when a video wouldn't load properly 1991. 9893. 0306. 162. 0341. Numbers are all I remember. How did Your smile look like? How did your voice Sound like? I stare at the excel sheet I've been populating I stare at the values I've been entering One after another, work requests come One after another, the traces of you go
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Apr 2, 2017
Apr 2, 2017 at 7:47 PM UTC
Death by Overwork
Harsh unyielding sunset, buries me against the page. I won't be lazing on a couch, left to rot and waste away. Wormy plush Berber carpet soft against the afternoon. Debts are pile high and the company picnic is this June. The pages are vellum paper covered in ancient Egyptian script. I've loved you methodically ever since we met inside that crypt. The dregs brings me solemn hope that one day we'll breakthrough. Works calling in on Sunday for some overtime that's overdue. Its a 5 past 4 the glass lays arrhythmic, shattered at my feet. We found each other down beside the casket of the diseased. Heartfelt words never came out of a mouth that were so pure. How could you take me for interesting, in life I'm just a bore. Down. I've already ruined the letter meant from me to you. Life is not a fairy tale to broker marriage for us two. Bloodletting's an aphrodisiac to keep me at the brink. Why'd I write this silly thing when I spilled my drink.
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Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
Workaholic march
I've never Skipped rocks Nor made ripples in a pond Never paid attention to the bees in the garden Nor the ants marching in unison Never stopped to smell the roses Nor stick my toes in the sand Never gazed at the sunrise Never awed at the sunset Nor have I ever been spellbound by the stars perfectly positioned in the heavens Never went camping or pitched a tent Never show my anger But somehow I always vent Now I look back in my haste I wish to regain the time I've waste. ©La Vida Love
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Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 4:49 PM UTC
In my haste...
He; inexhaustible yet exhausting, Ruthlessly efficient yet demanding, Hard working yet withholding, Barbed Yet deemed necessary. Protecting that which Long ago was made sacred; The heart, the hearth, the home, None may touch that hallowed ground. Defence was needed Safety paramount And then... The years passed... This ninja warrior endured Defended Sliced, hacked, diverted, whirled in endless pirouettes Of engaged battles Of mesmerising movement Of unrelenting actions Of no consequence For the mighty goal of protecting That Which Was now all but forgotten. So effective was his defence Of the thing called 'home' That it was hidden from all view Forgotten Beneath his whirling dexterity of projects and activities. The years passed... And there was no home. Never did the warrior stop to question his task That old old command. He simply obeyed As a warrior should And continue Until his death To protect the property of his master The result a hollow, busy, lonely life, Punctuated by exhaustion And the question.... "What's missing? " But so complete was his defense So skillful his guard That none saw what lay beneath. Too mesmerised by his motions to see that He was but a distraction A diversion From the question which would strike such fear into his masters heart "What will happen if I stop?"
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Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 1:43 PM UTC
The warrior who could not stop
She wins... She always does After a long busy stay From missing her all day I go home to her And she's there, she's always there, Patient, soothing and tender Luring me to bed... As I fight her charms, Trying to stay up; workaholic impulse raging! I win... For a moment or so Daring to focus For a couple more hours Desperate not to give in At least not without a fight. She peeks out from our bedroom Sneaking up from behind, As I snooze momentarily But I can't win this fight, there's no use trying! Accepting defeat, I embrace her Letting her caress me She entraps me all night I'm lost, against my will I know I'll wake up guilty, Wishing I could send her away But I'm stuck with her for life And she takes so much of my time Time I could use for work But no, she won't let go; not when I always yield! And no, she's not my wife She's not even my girlfriend Not some girl from across the street Just a nobody, named Sleep! © Raphael Uzor
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Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
Sleeping Beauty