"coworkers" poems
He made sure I knew just how lucky I was to have him
But he never hit me
He played games with my emotions repeatedly
But he never hit me
He made sure I didn’t leave the house in a skirt above the knees
But he never hit me
He knew the words to say to make me feel so small that I could not breathe
But he never hit me
He tossed me in and out, in and out, until my mind was in an out of control tizzy
But he never hit me
He messed around on the side late at night while I rested in our bed
But he never hit me
He made it clear that I wasn’t to go out at night with the girls
But he never hit me
He told me over and over again just how hard it would be to find anyone else to deal with me
But he never hit me
He fell asleep safe and sound as I laid in bed trying to catch my breath through tears
But he never hit me
He needed to have the password to every device, app and account
But he never hit me
He knew the power he held and used it over my head to weaken me
But he never hit me
He made jokes at my expense in front of friends and family and we all giggled together instead of cringed
But he never hit me
He assured me the women he texted were coworkers or colleagues but I could never know what they spoke of
But he never hit me
He made it clear that my interests and goals were not of pertinence
But he never hit me
He knew the exact words to say to take my entire day downhill
But he never hit me
He broke my heart over and over and over again until it was minuscule shreds
But he never hit me
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
i’m at work. my coworkers, no, my friends are with me. the restaurant is empty and we’re laughing. laughing about who knows what; maybe a crazy customer, maybe one of his hilarious anecdotes, maybe her joke, maybe just because we’re dumb teenagers who’ll laugh at anything. we’re standing and laughing and for the first time in a very long time i feel it. it flows through my body starting from my chest and goes all the way down to my toes and fingertips. it surrounds me, but not in the suffocating way that the sadness does. no, this is different. this feels like a warm hug that i didn’t know i needed until i got it. i feel like my entire being is lighting up and i want to stay in that moment forever. after just a second, the happiness vanishes, but it still leaves traces inside me. i feel hopeful. when’s the last time i felt that? i feel hopeful and i know just from that fleeting burst of happiness that everything’s worth it. i know that i’ll be able to feel that high of emotions again and god, do i want to. and everyone else is still laughing and smiling and i know that things can’t stay this way forever because eventually a car will pull into the parking lot or the manager will come out and tell us to clean but none of that matters. because in that moment, i am happy and i know that i am not unfixable and i know that i can be a normal dumb teenager laughing at normal dumb things. and that’s all that really matters.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 9:49 PM UTC
I once struck a man in anger, with a small statuette.
I dropped it to the floor as he fell, too, and watched the blood flow from his head.
Though as I gazed at the pool of crimson and began to realize what I had done,
I felt a snap and saw a vision:
I saw every drop of his blood.
It was inside his body, flowing, coursing, full of life and giving life.
He grew to raise a family, love his wife, and love his kids.
He helped his coworkers and encouraged them.
He donated to charities, and those charities helped many.
Some of those many improved their lives and helped many more.
As his sons, daughters, wife, and coworkers also were given life by him and gave life,
I saw his blood flow into their veins and spread, infecting countless others with love.
Houses filled with light and laughter
Streets were peopled by happy beings.
A woman comforted a girl in the loss of a friend, holding the sobbing face to her caring chest.
A poor man gave his only coat to a cold orphan boy on the curb, smiling through weathered lips.
I saw all this life,
And it was an ocean.
A flash of light and sound, and I saw another vision:
I saw every drop of his blood.
It was outside his body, flowing, coursing, void of life and stealing life.
As it touched me, I joined it as blood, boiling and bubbling with hate.
As our blood ran down the busy metropolis street of life, it would touch people it came across.
When it did so, they would melt also into a mass of red, splashing outward, and infecting others.
Everyone touched would gasp and turn to scarlet, turning the shop-lined street into a river of blood.
Countless lives were consumed in this manner.
At one point, I finally pooled at the bottom of the street, and stared back from where I came.
The street was now dark and desolate, the bustling life gone.
The shops empty, the skies grey, the ground littered.
A finch plucked strands from a red-stained straw hat, to make a bed of death.
A mangy alley dog lapped up the blood that still coated the street, becoming only more hideous.
And all was quiet, and I was utterly alone, but for the screams of their blood in my ears.
I saw all this death,
And it was an ocean.
A jolt, and I opened my eyes.
I found myself staring at the blood running from the man’s head in front of me.
A few seconds later and I realized again what I had done.
But I realized something else as well.
I tore my shirt and tightly wrapped his head in the cloth.
I lifted him up and took him to the hospital.
There I sat and awaited my punishment.
And took joy in life.
Mar 15, 2012
Mar 15, 2012 at 12:10 PM UTC
Pushing a key oh how it brings me glee;
Content even happy in simple existence;
Many may not want to be just like me,
For a dry dreary job takes a work of persistence,
But each button I press is a step to success.
Merely a man without a choice,
Only a puppet with no voice
As I wait for direction with keen apprehension;
I stare at the screen first perplexed then distraught;
I see no coworkers it fills me with tension;
What was that? Was it just a thought?
A voice in my head, now it fills me with dread.
He must choose to make a choice,
To give his mouth a voice
“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
‘Stanley’ is that honestly my own name?
This voice I don’t trust, I will be very cautious;
I shut my closed door so all will stay the same;
The voice has not parted, I’m back where I started;
How?
The end is never the end is never the end
“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
Shall I play with him in his own little game?
My other decision was not quite that flawless;
I walk outside and am filled with no shame;
“Rejoice, you’ve made the one right choice”.
Now he’s a man in a world of choice,
The one employee that has a voice
I come to two doors and feel a great sensation;
“Walk through the door that's to your left”
What should I think of his clear calm narration?
I walk to the left, trying to be quite deft;
“You must not try to be uncouth, my words they simply speak the truth”.
Does he really have a choice?
Are the words his own real voice?
The constant dictation is no consolation;
I am led into a secret new door;
What I now see is a mind control station
But how do I know what is real anymore?
Does this place control me, or the voice within me?
This is the chance to make a choice,
His opportunity to put forth a voice
"Will you close down the station boy?
"Or put its full force into motion?
What choice do I have but to follow the story?
'Mind control', I'm dismayed at the notion;
I think I heard the voice inside me just scoff,
I turn the station off.
Only a character in a fixed plot line,
He does not see a contrasting sign
Now I am free but it brings me no glee;
Maybe I should have put up some resistance;
Merely existing means nothing to me;
I must now question my unclear subsistence;
The voice has not parted, I'm back where I started.
A man with a choice,
He has a voice
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
We all live our lives
Hidden behind the masks we switch out based on who we're around:
Fake smiles for friends and family;
Painful, quiet thoughtfulness for coworkers, employers, and educators;
Horrible secrets we keep from everyone we meet;
From everyone we love
And sometimes, these masks are gorgeous,
Like those you'd see at a masquerade.
Masks that mimic what's really there,
Yet hide it from sight as well.
And everyone who wears these masks
Will look and a mirror and think to themselves:
"Who am I? Why don't I recognize this person reflected back at me?"
It's the mask.
We wear the mask.
We hide behind it.
But when did the mask become us?
When did it become everything we are?
When did these masks start taking control?
Will we let this continue?
When does it stop?
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
i was told i could be anything,
so i chose to be a feminist
because
when i suggested my father help with the laundry,
my mother told me i was crazy.
because
meghan tranior's "all about that bass"
is telling bigger girls to be comfortable in their own skin
because skinny girls already do, right?
because
i'd like to make as much as my male coworkers.
because
i was laughed at for wanting to be a doctor instead of a housewife.
because
people look at me strange when i say i don't want kids.
because
when i gave a speech about feminism in my english class,
i was called a man-hater.
because
"my shoulders distract the boy's education".
because
my mom shouldn't have to worry
about what goes in my drink at concerts.
i will be a feminist until
i can tell my boyfriend
"no babe, i'd rather watch the movie"
and i am not told
"you're depriving him of his needs".
until
my body is my body.
until
i no longer have to carry pepper spray on a keychain.
until
women in foreign countries can vote and drive.
until
woman means human.
until
we understand **** culture
and feminism isn't just about women,
it's about humans.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
I live on misery street
With misery homes
And misery rooms
And misery men
Making misery memories
With their misery mistresses
To forget their misery lives
And their misery jobs
With their misery bosses
And misery coworkers
Working to get their misery pay
So they can feed their misery kids
So they can focus at misery school
And get misery grades
So they can have misery lives of their own.
I live on misery street
Where misery isn't misery at all.
Misery is routine.
May 25, 2013
May 25, 2013 at 12:03 AM UTC
We are on the outside
A collection of people
Friends, acquaintances, neighbors
Coworkers, family, strangers
The more we have
The more we are
Wrong.
It is not what we do
Not who we are
But who we will be
The void is the black hole
Of cyber space
The unimaginable pace
The place of no space
In an ever ending race
The chase- friends, followers, views
Likes, tweets- for what?
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
You tried to pull a gun on me.
I just pulled mine faster
But what you don't know is
Three days later
I put my gun to my head.
I couldn't live with the fact
That I almost pulled the trigger on you
That I was ready to stop your threat.
What you don't know is one month later
I still had nightmares
That I overdosed on pills
Hoping to never wake up.
Six months later
I still see your face
I still think of the what ifs
One year later
I still wake up screaming
Fighting your invisible threat.
One year and six months later
You voice still haunts me.
You were eager to **** be because I wore a badge and gun.
My coworkers ***** me.
Two against me.
What you two didnt see
The detectives interrogated me.
Told me I asked for it
I should have fought back
One day later the detective picks me up
I tried over dosing minutes before they came
They noticed the cuts but didn't notice
That I was falling fast
I couldn't keep my eyes open.
My speech was slurring
I walked like i was drunk
I made it through the **** kit
I got home and slept for three days straight
One month later i quit my job.
My body couldn't handle the stress
I kept dissociating.
Six months later
I still couldn't have ***
I started learning jujitsu
I had bought a gun
One year later
I was more confident
But i still feared ***
I feared men
I still had nightmares
Two years later
I'm still managing to struggle
I still hear your voices
Still see your faces
Still feel you in my dreams
Two years and six months later
I'm more confident.
I still have difficulty with men.
But now I am well on my way to be a police officer
An EMT
I can't let you win!
Ever!
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 11:52 PM UTC
My room’s a disaster, and I am positive it is a reflection of the current state of my life.
But, I mean, what do I know?
My life is nothing short of scawompus.
And by golly, let the wild rumpus begin, I shout- to the heavens- instead of taking the time to clean a few things up. Instead I linger, just oh, so fed up.
What do I know?
I know for certain I am not the only one who would rather relinquish their life story to a stranger at coffee house than to their best pal on occasion. Truthfully, that’s probably a factor in humanity’s perpetually loneliness, makes me question the reality of godliness,
But that’s another talk for another day.
I know, oh boy, I know we’re all just lonely ******
and darlin’ ain’t nobody's life more glamorous than yours,
just step out of your head for a moment.
Because it truly is gorgeous out here, there is every reason to fear, but also every reason to simply say **** it, and lie back and enjoy the view.
But what do I know?
I know it seems askew, but the beauty lies in the few who learn to appreciate the new.
Oh, what do I know?
Oh yes, I know I am **** crazy, and **** weird. I know this because I am reminded daily by my family, friends, and coworkers, but I am also **** happy for how depressed I am.
But then again, what do I know?
Let’s be honest,
I wear my whole life on my sleeve and still, nobody ******* knows me.
And I think I’m badass. Skanking at ska shows, waking with "oh no"s, what am I doing here?
In a strangers house after a night of fun and honest to god I am still bummed.
For whatever reason, whatever I may conjure up, and I am left here feeling like i’m still floating up,
Up, up I am drifting
I am a drifter
And I still don’t know what it feels like to feel
I am a ****** to life in so many senses
My senses are unfulfilled,
But I am scared senseless of what my future holds.
And what THE HELL do I know?
I am undeniably bewildered,
Nevertheless, aren’t we all?
In that, who really KNOWS anything these days…
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 5:44 AM UTC
There's an autistic guy
sitting in the booth next to me,
he works in a different zone,
but they keep piling loads
of meticulous **** on him
& he does it lickity split
with a smile on his face.
Who knew he'd be
so proficient.
Funny, it's no joke
how the rest of my
coworkers whine
when they don't
get their smoke break
with so much
of their work
left to do.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 8:45 AM UTC
didn't shower
sitting in the cubicle
for long hours
didn't shower
and blood
is still on hands
and feet are still riddled
with dirt
staining cheap
carpet floorprint
afraid to touch
anything
coworkers peer
over
their fabric palisades
eyes burning holes
through ripped shirt
and crooked tie
head down
don't exist
no one has to
know a thing
didn't shower
hair is manged and
disoriented
I can feel blood
drip off fingertips
pat - pat - pat
on bland slate
carpet design
can't concentrate
didn't shower
everyone stares
black eye
swollen and scabbed
everyone knows
have to
it's all puddling at feet
washing with the dirt
look away
******* look away!
head is severed
on the mahogany finish desk
black eye bulged
black and purple tennis ball
everyone gathers
whispers whispers
jaw opens
teeth fall out
pat - pat - pat
no one says anything
look away look away
look away
get up to leave
the head stays there
dark souvenir
quick drive
home
shower
hours melt away
infirmities recede
sink back below skin
didn't shower
everyone knew
what happened
last night
but now
no evidence
no witnesses
no one knows
the perfect crime
a cruel smile
emerges on
bare white teeth
as night sets in once again
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
April 23.
My birthday is tomorrow;
I took off work to celebrate.
My boyfriend and I are going to get lunch.
“Administrative Professionals’ Day” is today.
My coworkers get a cookie text
From my manager—
That’s an 8x8 square of cookie
Topped with saccharine frosting
And edible paper.
The printer jams.
Someone heats up fish for lunch.
Time drags on.
On my way home,
I pass by the cemetery.
A woman sits at the edge of the garden
Where her baby is buried.
She adjusts the Easter decorations she set out last week.
Pastel-colored eggs, a small rabbit.
Near her, his younger brother wanders about
Picking dandelions and
Hopping over graves and
Waving to passing cars.
The child touches his mom’s shoulder
And points out a bird.
They look at it together,
Then get in the car.
Time passes by.
Tonight, I think I’ll make pasta for dinner.
There’s half a jar of red sauce in the fridge
Perfect for one meal.
There won’t be any leftovers,
But that’s fine.
After, I sit at my computer.
My friends are around to play games tonight,
So I nurse a *** and Coke
And hunt ghosts
Until my eyelids grow heavy.
Time flies.
Finally beneath cool sheets,
I reflect on today—
April 23.
My birthday is tomorrow;
I took off work to celebrate.
My boyfriend and I are going to get lunch.
May 16, 2024
May 16, 2024 at 9:05 PM UTC
2 years ago I wrote a poem about Cat Woman
2 years from then it still hurts to think about.
You see,
2 seconds
turned to 2 minutes
turned to 2 hours
turned to 2 days
turned to 2 months
and now it’s turned to 2 years.
They say it gets better
when you lose a loved one.
They say you can get over it.
How is that true though,
when on her birthday I can’t help but cry?
When on the anniversary I work with tears in my eyes
avoiding looks from my coworkers
just to keep my pain hidden inside?
Even just days like my birthday I think of her.
2 years will turn into 4 years
to 6 to 8 to 10 years and things will never change.
I listened to my grandmothers breathing
Cat Woman playing on the tv in the background
her breathing slowing.
On days like today I think of her
and I sit here
and I write this poem with tears in my eyes.
and it hurts so much when she’s on my mind.
I miss her everyday
and while there are days it is easier
There are also days where it’s difficult just to get out of my bed
get up without crying and hold myself together.
It still hurts to think about
Cat Woman from 2 years ago.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
There is an old story that my father
Told me and my brother when we were children.
It is of the windbag
Who now haunts the ancient diamond mines.
It goes like this:
"Boys, have I ever told you of the old windbag?
How about the diamond mines that poisoned it?
Well, this windbag was a miner
Who wore his diving suit and large pickaxe with pride.
Indeed his suit was pride,
But the golden diamond mines were lust
Lust that the old miner paid no mind.
For every strike with his large pickaxe
Was every moment his mind left sanity.
He wanted more wanted more wanted more
Always always always dreaming of glittering diamonds
That shrank his soul to stone.
He left this world no longer a miner
But a windbag lingering the mines possessed by diamonds
With its diving suit and large pickaxe.
One dark morning the windbag was mining,
It was mining mining mining,
Yet it could not hear the diamond mines shatter, crumble.
Its coworkers heard, but it only heard diamonds.
The windbag stayed in the old diamond mines,
Trapped in its diving suit
Trapped in its large pickaxe
Trapped in its diamond mines.
It continues to clink and clank
As it lurks amongst the silent diamonds,
Making only physical contact."
This story my father told me and my brother,
Haunts me more than the clink and clank
I hear while walking by
The ancient diamond mines
That swallowed the windbag.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 3:35 PM UTC
Coworkers seeking chit chat
I've a long night at that
Smiling and nodding robotically
If I leave they will hate me
The office party is on
They usually drag on till dawn
I look around for a spot
Just to hide out from the lot
Raising my head I see you
Eyes bright and blue
You look in my direction
I smile to show affection
As you move near me
My heart begins it's plea
Your fragrance precedes
A temptation indeed
Inches from me you stand
I reach out my hand
You slip your fingers in mine
Pulling me close its divine
You whisper in my ear
Why are you trembling dear?
I answer with a gentle kiss
Your smile tells me you like this
My intention is to hold you close
And dance until we overdose
My hands enjoy your curves
Another kiss to calm your nerves
Our bodies move in unison
This night has just begun
Dance with me till daybreak
These feelings I can't fake
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
Stuck in skirmish of working this
retail
I'm intricately plotting my escape with detail
Now see well
it's time for an alternative path
One that I believe, achieve then kick ***
This ***** whack
working hourly wages
I'm Turning time into sand,
with people who won't make it
Reality is a series of obstacles
Let's face it
My sanity is slipping like
Like **** on black latex
How can I ******* break this
I've become a statistic
a realistic typical stereotype
I fantasize on the daily
wishing I can take Ariel flight
How can I steer clear of these mundane communications
slab-faced coworkers &
there basic conversations
I'm tired of it, I'm tired of it
I'm done with it...
No more giving a ****
Now it's time to resist
These urges of being someone
Who settles & simply quits
I seek to strive for more
My motivation is too legit
My skills are beyond eons
I will conquer with fist
No more being a peon
Dance then do a flip
Celebrate like I'm Deion
For this year will test
my patience & true potential
to many years guiding this pencil
Into oblivion
Blank spaces and synonyms
Wordplay over wordplay
Metaphors for my residents
Letters create earthquakes
Echoes create resonance
I from art in sentences
This residue is my evidence
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
She has a housewife heart
Baking warm chocolate chip cookies
For every single person (including the cat)
So no one felt left out
She mixed and mixed
With that big wooden spoon
Not one single person
Got to lick it
with their fat strawberry tongues
And no one felt left out
She's obsessed
And is baking for
The children she has yet to have
And the husband she has yet to love
And the coworkers at the stable job she hasn't yet gotten the degree for
But she needs them all
So she doesn't feel left out
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
Everything is routine now. You get lost going through the motions. You wake up, you brush your teeth, you drive to work. You find yourself seeking temporary solace in the mundane moments. Your daily coffee. A customers compliment. A coworkers joke. You answer emails and engage in at least a few brief human interactions. You sit in traffic, you make dinner, you shower. You do some household chores and you maybe get to indulge in a tv show. You most likely have a vice but it is probably losing its allure by now. You maybe get a vacation once a year. Is this just adulthood or is this the rat race of life? How can I maximize my happiness? Where is all the joy? Where are my flashback “movie moments”?
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
“what are you going to do with your life?”
they all ask me
teachers
parents
peers
coworkers
my answer is simple
i don’t know
because i didn’t think
i would still be here
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 2:21 PM UTC
wake up
desensitized, oversanitized
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
Dab all over with aches, pains, and itches.
Struggle with gauche and forced interactions, coworkers and family. Friends?
No God.
POSITIVE THOUGHTS
POSITIVE THINKING
cloying, choking fear.
fear
Fear
FEAR
F E A R
Rub your face in the mirror.
Think deep thoughts that you believe are unique.
They are not. You are very uninteresting, probably.
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
drink until you sleep,
if not use the pills.
Use both.
Your room is warm.
You will have nightmares.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
The mask I wear
For my family
For my coworkers
For my school friends
Is a mask of compleat happiness
No care in the world
But when I'm alone
The mask comes off
And there is the pain I feel
A feeling of loneliness
A feeling of emptiness
That is how I truly feel
Inside, behind my mask
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 10:14 PM UTC
I wonder what you'd say if you could see me now.
If we passed on the street, would you recognize me?
Because
I made something of myself, you know?
I hold down a great job.
My coworkers love me.
People respect me because I'm good at what I do.
People respect me because I'm a good friend.
People respect me because I respect them.
I made something of myself, you know?
I pay my rent and bills and insurance
On time with the money I earn by hard work,
And hell, I'm proud of me.
I made something of myself, you know?
Made a few friends along the road
And communication keeps us staying that way.
They know where I stand
And they're proud of me too.
I made something of myself, you know?
I guess you really don't.
It's been years since you've picked up the phone
To ask me how I am,
To see what I've done,
To learn what kind of person I'm become,
To behold the woman I have grown into.
I've made something of myself, you see.
And it just plain *****
That you refuse to be
A mother to me.
I don't need you to coddle,
To hand-hold or problem-solve.
I just need you to be
My mom.
I'm grown, I'm adulting, I'm fine.
But, don't you wish you knew me now
Instead of just the me when I was a kid?
Don't you wish you could see
The person I've grown to be?
Would you ever be proud of me?
I guess I'll never know.
But before I go,
Thanks.
Really.
You may not be the best role model or mom,
But I am who I am today
Because I chose to be.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 7:28 PM UTC
My Life is a Scratched CD (OR Blue Collar Lament- The Little Napper Remix)
Lines taken from poems by JM Romig (Ursa Somniculosa/CD Skipping Down Route 11) and Ryan Kinney (Blue Collar Lament)
It's long drive on this highway
The window creeks
- its jagged way down
I breathe in the new air for the first time in months
the CD starts skip-skip words
Hopping over - lines
Reminding me
Of finite fuel
repeat-
finite time
With work looming just hours away
repeat-
Death, just decades away
I spend most of my week
in the back of the factory
where I sell my free time
on repeat
in a semi-conscience trance
watching multi-million dollar machines work
repeat
in the back of the factory
where I sell my free time
is a constellation of dirt, chipped paint
and cobwebs
forming the shape
of a bear
lounging in a hammock
skip
They are more alive than I am.
Monday at 3 PM I click off my brain,
switch on automatic,
repeat
automatic
skip
- the countdown:-T-minus 40 hours.
Each minute that ticks by
in the dull monotony slowly steals my sanity,
bit by bit
Each minute closer to Friday
slower and slower,
until on Friday they seem to tick
backwards--
skip
I have coworkers
who insist that it's a monkey,
trapped in a net
Each day blurs into the other
making them indistinguishable.
Repeat-
My finite time
Monday,
the entirety of the previous week
on repeat-
T-minus 40 hours.
skip
they are wrong.
It's clearly a bear
In the back of the factory
where I sell my free time
repeat-
Death - just decades away.
The dictator they put in charge of the asylum
barks out commands on cue,
just to remind everyone that they own you.
skip
The desperation for dollars
are the shackles that keep me here.
I often welcome sleepwalking:
I think of Emerson
On repeat-
Skip-
I think I feel like his transparent eyeball
repeat-
His eyeball-
I begin to understand
I begin to feel like I'm one with everything
skip-
everyone is love
repeat
love
every-Everyone is me
and you
skip-skip
-the impending coma
In the few instances the machines malfunction
I curse being awakened.
At least as a zombie, I don't feel
my mind rotting
repeat
the rotting constellation of dirt,
chipped paint and cobwebs:
Ursa Somniculosa
No matter where I am on the floor,
I can see him hanging there in his hammock
on the weekends I love life.
I shed the identity the uniform has forced upon me
and my true self emerges--
repeat
my finite fuel
In the back of the factory
where I sell my free time
repeat
the desperation for dollars
I truly only live two days a week
repeat
my finite time
I'm dying the other five
skip-skip
I think of Ursa Somniculosa -
In the back of the factory
where I sell my free time
enjoying his perpetual vacation
maybe sipping on a nice tall beer
soaking up the sun -
NOT being a trapped monkey
like all of us down here
on repeat
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 10:17 PM UTC