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The pencil rapped and tapped against the recycled envelope

Tap tap tap...Scribble, scribble...

poised in mid-air.. small pink eraser tip almost parallel to the paper..frozen...pinky hovering beyond the fulcrum waiting to move for a thought to commit to paper or another calculation?

Is the proposal over the phone worth it or does the pencil need more time to dance?
Getting all the information before committing...
Is being called “silly” really an insult?
Does it warrant an official call to apologise without one
moment taken to consider that the accusation may have merit?

Might we be so concerned for respect that we risk being out of touch with a few home truths?

Is it a problem to be questioned? Can we maintain confidence in ourselves whilst allowing our colleagues to make suggestions that may be equally as good.. or.. dare I suggest... better??

Are we risking the power of discourse in the fight to protect our “patch” or our “fiefdom”....

I don’t wish to fear the answers and hope we can exist to challenge and respect simultaneously... creativity is stifled when we don’t allow other angles to be considered...

Pride should not need to feel threatened... maybe we should aim our daggers at self-preservation.
Written after a long day at the office....hoping we can let adults be adults and choose confidence over paranoia
           distraction, disruption, deliverance or delightful?

                                                    ­   UNKNOWN

is it anguish or angst?
possibly both
Does one need excuses to be melodramatic?
How many more split ends must I split
before the desk is covered in pieces of distressed hair
and covers the blank page that I’m supposed to attend to?
The temptation to continue is strong, but I’d rather make myself
a cup of coffee.
Is it relative or are there
definitive scales for measuring
the acceptable levels of entitled embarrassment?

Who knows, who cares,
but it is not advisable to
trip, slip or **** in public places

— The End —