#worklife - Hello Poetry

Written: Nov/24/2025 Sandy pit pockets. A hand slid down into a western buyer's mine. I pray for the hate to go away. A golden fawn walks out as a silver hawk flies off a cactus. The Lord commanded me: "Relax and rest". He has a bunch of elect that refuse to bow the knee to the baals. hanukkah comes but I delight by removing all the candles. My coworker connected with me over our love for the Sonic adventure 2 battle soundtrack. That's all I needed to not quit being a glorified receptionist.

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Dec 18, 2025

Dec 18, 2025 at 7:26 PM UTC

SeanCStucki

My own personal pentecost

Written: Nov/24/2025 Sandy pit pockets. A hand slid down into a western buyer's mine. I pray for the hate to go away. A golden fawn walks out as a silver hawk flies off a cactus. The Lord commanded me: "Relax and rest". He has a bunch of elect that refuse to bow the knee to the baals. hanukkah comes but I delight by removing all the candles. My coworker connected with me over our love for the Sonic adventure 2 battle soundtrack. That's all I needed to not quit being a glorified receptionist.

19

I’m trying my best, yet somehow I fade, each passing day feels like I’m losing my shade. An unknown place, with unknown eyes, I’m tracing roots where no one tries. Every day a battle, soft and unseen, from small mistakes to words too mean. I wonder often, where did I fall? In rooms of chatter, I feel so small. They laugh in rhythms I can’t define, their friendship flows in a different line. Everyone’s rushing, I stand still, too much time, too little thrill. No proof to show that I’m built strong, just echoes asking what went wrong. But still, I stay, I breathe, I try, to find my place beneath this sky.

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Nov 6, 2025

Nov 6, 2025 at 10:11 AM UTC

Daniel_J1

Finding My Place

I’m trying my best, yet somehow I fade, each passing day feels like I’m losing my shade. An unknown place, with unknown eyes, I’m tracing roots where no one tries. Every day a battle, soft and unseen, from small mistakes to words too mean. I wonder often, where did I fall? In rooms of chatter, I feel so small. They laugh in rhythms I can’t define, their friendship flows in a different line. Everyone’s rushing, I stand still, too much time, too little thrill. No proof to show that I’m built strong, just echoes asking what went wrong. But still, I stay, I breathe, I try, to find my place beneath this sky.

16

When you rise, you already know: The lab waits, stale and still. Same floor, dirt, same click of keys— A day measured in dust, not thrill. Forty hours, earned and owed. The hands of clocks don’t tick—they tap. Each second held like lab samples— Precise, but hollow, neatly stacked. You know the price. Wear your coat, neat and white. Glasses on, hair tied tight. I check the time, Just to be met with nothing new. Lunch breaks stretch—too slow, too long— Like the day itself drains the soul. That awful smell, Heating samples to a hiss. The heat rolls out— Burns your limbs, once blissfully unaware. You finish early. Precision wins— But time is a master, not a guide. They won't send you home for clarity— They only need your hours, not your pride. The dirt beneath the microscope Is cleaner than this worn routine. What once was physics, full of light, Now quantifies what might have been. You didn’t light my passion— I burned it to the ground. Taught me nothing new, Expanded only knowledge of life: Forty hours a week— A dead-end job. You know the steps before you move. Your badge, your desk, your shift, your face. You could draw it blind, dream it still— Each breath a brace for empty space. You cry on days you can't explain. Too much knowing breaks the soul. Routine is a cruel scientist— It tests your limits. Marks its toll. But still, you rise. And still, you go— Not for the thrill, but for control. If chaos is the only other path, Then monotony feels like parole. I left the lab, but left much more. A spark once lit by force and flight Now physics haunts, not holds me close— A love I lost to measured light. Not every passion finds its path, But some still shine from deep within.

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Jul 7, 2025

Jul 7, 2025 at 2:33 PM UTC

Nosy

Dead-End Precision

When you rise, you already know: The lab waits, stale and still. Same floor, dirt, same click of keys— A day measured in dust, not thrill. Forty hours, earned and owed. The hands of clocks don’t tick—they tap. Each second held like lab samples— Precise, but hollow, neatly stacked. You know the price. Wear your coat, neat and white. Glasses on, hair tied tight. I check the time, Just to be met with nothing new. Lunch breaks stretch—too slow, too long— Like the day itself drains the soul. That awful smell, Heating samples to a hiss. The heat rolls out— Burns your limbs, once blissfully unaware. You finish early. Precision wins— But time is a master, not a guide. They won't send you home for clarity— They only need your hours, not your pride. The dirt beneath the microscope Is cleaner than this worn routine. What once was physics, full of light, Now quantifies what might have been. You didn’t light my passion— I burned it to the ground. Taught me nothing new, Expanded only knowledge of life: Forty hours a week— A dead-end job. You know the steps before you move. Your badge, your desk, your shift, your face. You could draw it blind, dream it still— Each breath a brace for empty space. You cry on days you can't explain. Too much knowing breaks the soul. Routine is a cruel scientist— It tests your limits. Marks its toll. But still, you rise. And still, you go— Not for the thrill, but for control. If chaos is the only other path, Then monotony feels like parole. I left the lab, but left much more. A spark once lit by force and flight Now physics haunts, not holds me close— A love I lost to measured light. Not every passion finds its path, But some still shine from deep within.

51

i feel like potential is dripping out of the tips of my fingers golden ochre spilling across every surface staining everything it touches marks and scar of waste to show that all i do is fail use it use it use it make use of this potential before it leaves you, my mind screams use it use it use it so i do i do i do and slowly ochre turns to a shimmering bronze i can't pay it any mind

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Aug 11, 2023

Aug 11, 2023 at 10:05 PM UTC

gbye

ochre drips like blood

i feel like potential is dripping out of the tips of my fingers golden ochre spilling across every surface staining everything it touches marks and scar of waste to show that all i do is fail use it use it use it make use of this potential before it leaves you, my mind screams use it use it use it so i do i do i do and slowly ochre turns to a shimmering bronze i can't pay it any mind

10

malam ini, si bocah rewel berhenti menyamar pikirannya terlalu gerah jiwanya renta, terkekang tempurung dahi hanya terisi geram kantong kapuk bersaksi atas tangis kelelahan tanpa suara ia sempat doyan bekerja berpayah-payah memunguti kerikil satu demi satu tiap pijakannya bukan tindakan acak menempa diri demi bilangan kini yang tersisa hanya pendar-pendar ambisi & setungku kekosongan menjemukan Ia berkutat pada teka teki yang tersuguh manis mencari pembebasan yang sepadan berharap segera merdeka dari jerat alur yang mengikat keras berlumuran lamunan ia berserah, membakar doa sambil melempar akal 'adakah satu dari seluruh umat manusia yang masih belum paham, kita ini gerombolan wayang bukan dalang!'

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Apr 7, 2022

Apr 7, 2022 at 12:07 PM UTC

megittaignacia

Anjani.

malam ini, si bocah rewel berhenti menyamar pikirannya terlalu gerah jiwanya renta, terkekang tempurung dahi hanya terisi geram kantong kapuk bersaksi atas tangis kelelahan tanpa suara ia sempat doyan bekerja berpayah-payah memunguti kerikil satu demi satu tiap pijakannya bukan tindakan acak menempa diri demi bilangan kini yang tersisa hanya pendar-pendar ambisi & setungku kekosongan menjemukan Ia berkutat pada teka teki yang tersuguh manis mencari pembebasan yang sepadan berharap segera merdeka dari jerat alur yang mengikat keras berlumuran lamunan ia berserah, membakar doa sambil melempar akal 'adakah satu dari seluruh umat manusia yang masih belum paham, kita ini gerombolan wayang bukan dalang!'

21

There aren’t many jobs where Sunday night cold grips your guts and has you palpitate while midwives are called and antiques are roadshowed every inch of will is bent up in figuring the impossible if we all know how leading horses to water ends then can we not give the stable hands a break? As I watch my own digits shake, stable hands seems like a joke no one lets me in on

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Sep 26, 2021

Sep 26, 2021 at 3:24 PM UTC

drunkenkind

Dread locked

There aren’t many jobs where Sunday night cold grips your guts and has you palpitate while midwives are called and antiques are roadshowed every inch of will is bent up in figuring the impossible if we all know how leading horses to water ends then can we not give the stable hands a break? As I watch my own digits shake, stable hands seems like a joke no one lets me in on

13

We try to sink into the crepuscular as behind, another working week picks us out of its teeth we throw a couple of weaves into the route to the sofa for a headful of peace, maybe though home has deaf ears too, we love them and through years of gaining favour we’ll keep bruised hearts open there beyond, you’ll see each aortal latch fixed, each ventricular bolt slid and each arterial snib locked if sweat and tears are the currency you’d better ****** earn it

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Sep 24, 2021

Sep 24, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC

drunkenkind

Detention

We try to sink into the crepuscular as behind, another working week picks us out of its teeth we throw a couple of weaves into the route to the sofa for a headful of peace, maybe though home has deaf ears too, we love them and through years of gaining favour we’ll keep bruised hearts open there beyond, you’ll see each aortal latch fixed, each ventricular bolt slid and each arterial snib locked if sweat and tears are the currency you’d better ****** earn it

16

Today I thought **** you.” You’re rude to those I love through ignorance, yours of course, as mine is finer tuned though I abhor you for your corporate judgment in kind I’m classifying you to post in **** encrusted pigeonholes so future proles will know to write you off and your specious waffle will forever be followed by polite cough, Yours Faithfully

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Apr 23, 2021

Apr 23, 2021 at 12:27 PM UTC

drunkenkind

Them that can’t

Today I thought **** you.” You’re rude to those I love through ignorance, yours of course, as mine is finer tuned though I abhor you for your corporate judgment in kind I’m classifying you to post in **** encrusted pigeonholes so future proles will know to write you off and your specious waffle will forever be followed by polite cough, Yours Faithfully

14

The headlights blaze, a horn honks, I look at the traffic light, I wait, at a signal, in a traffic jam, stuck. Soldiers storm a university, in a book a dog dies, a girl fights tumors in her ******* the world turns, and in a traffic jam, I remain stuck. Later in the night, in my bed, I lie scrolling Instagram stories follow one another, a quick progression: outrage on an atrocity turns and becomes 40% Sale on a fashion brand, turns and becomes the best biryani in town, turns and becomes a friend at a pub, turns and becomes my office desk, turns and becomes an empty page, turns and becomes a traffic jam, turns and does not become anything, and I remain stuck.

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Jan 14, 2020

Jan 14, 2020 at 6:55 AM UTC

adi_prongs

Stuck

The headlights blaze, a horn honks, I look at the traffic light, I wait, at a signal, in a traffic jam, stuck. Soldiers storm a university, in a book a dog dies, a girl fights tumors in her ******* the world turns, and in a traffic jam, I remain stuck. Later in the night, in my bed, I lie scrolling Instagram stories follow one another, a quick progression: outrage on an atrocity turns and becomes 40% Sale on a fashion brand, turns and becomes the best biryani in town, turns and becomes a friend at a pub, turns and becomes my office desk, turns and becomes an empty page, turns and becomes a traffic jam, turns and does not become anything, and I remain stuck.

24

sometime s I wish I was a fashion designer or someonelikethat maybe living in newyork being botheredbymynicotineaddiction but happy to not have to go stand intherain wearing bellsleevesonatuesday and feeling n i c e and callingmymotherbefore dinner and having lunch withmybest friend and her dog and living a life asleep sometimes it feels good towishicouldbe someone else and to know that instead i will alway s b e m e

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Jan 3, 2019

Jan 3, 2019 at 7:00 PM UTC

caro-emv

bellsleevesonatuesday

sometime s I wish I was a fashion designer or someonelikethat maybe living in newyork being botheredbymynicotineaddiction but happy to not have to go stand intherain wearing bellsleevesonatuesday and feeling n i c e and callingmymotherbefore dinner and having lunch withmybest friend and her dog and living a life asleep sometimes it feels good towishicouldbe someone else and to know that instead i will alway s b e m e

11

wake up, brush teeth, get dressed make coffee, pack, double check. the same routine every day, the same day played out yet again. the same email to the same type of people who i know aren't going to make a purchase. the same answers to all the same questions. going home at the same time, to the same place i hate, thinking all the same thoughts, wondering, wondering, wondering. if this is 'life', maybe i'm not cut out for it.

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May 22, 2018

May 22, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC

NotALamb

this is 'life'

wake up, brush teeth, get dressed make coffee, pack, double check. the same routine every day, the same day played out yet again. the same email to the same type of people who i know aren't going to make a purchase. the same answers to all the same questions. going home at the same time, to the same place i hate, thinking all the same thoughts, wondering, wondering, wondering. if this is 'life', maybe i'm not cut out for it.

15

A perfect escape away with the city's rush, Stolen moment Long trip is worth it, the beautiful sea proved it lose myself a bit. Sun kissed while dancing, listening to good music with the wind's cold breeze. Mind, body, spirit, Lying on sands was really a relaxing moment. Was truly refreshed by having peace from my own struggles and thoughts. Enjoyed life at last, made every moment a blast sad it ended fast.

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Mar 1, 2018

Mar 1, 2018 at 3:04 PM UTC

hpotter

My short escape

A perfect escape away with the city's rush, Stolen moment Long trip is worth it, the beautiful sea proved it lose myself a bit. Sun kissed while dancing, listening to good music with the wind's cold breeze. Mind, body, spirit, Lying on sands was really a relaxing moment. Was truly refreshed by having peace from my own struggles and thoughts. Enjoyed life at last, made every moment a blast sad it ended fast.

18

sitting blankly in this chair again, feet planted firmly on this patterned carpet. the air conditioner hums softly, pulling me with the soft cushion of coldness. exhaustion drags my eyes down, away from the glaring lights of this screen. voices droning on in the background, smiles, handshakes, "how do you do?"'s. the ringing phone sounds like one big sigh, i suppose it's just another Monday.

0

Jul 21, 2017

Jul 21, 2017 at 5:12 PM UTC

DisturbinglyHuman

What Did You Expect?

sitting blankly in this chair again, feet planted firmly on this patterned carpet. the air conditioner hums softly, pulling me with the soft cushion of coldness. exhaustion drags my eyes down, away from the glaring lights of this screen. voices droning on in the background, smiles, handshakes, "how do you do?"'s. the ringing phone sounds like one big sigh, i suppose it's just another Monday.

10