BURSTING
I am so sick of this job,
I'm so tired of working like a corporate slave
of following their preposterous instructions and their inhuman schedules,
and of working to fulfill someone else's dream
instead of my own.
Some days I just wanna scream
right into the smarmy face of my computer screen
"I have dreams too, ya know!"
And I have work I've gotta do, and things
I've gotta learn and experience
or my own dreams are never gonna come true.
And I'm just gonna fucking POP if I don't get to work on them soon!
I'm really scared that one day
I'm just gonna burst with frustration.
And the helter-skelter rhythm
Of our stop-and-go daily routines
will all just explode
in a spitting, smoldering tragedy of
Broken trusts, blackened reputations, and stolen insider information.
But then I realize that I'm just panicking.
Because right now,
I'm not working as a full-time artist,
or moving in the natural flow of an artist,
so maybe it means that I'm NOT an artist?
And I begin to fear that my 9-5 job is just killing
every creative instinct in my body
and numbing all of my senses,
my romantic anger and imagination becoming dulled
by the recycled office air.
And I get worried that one day I'm just gonna screw everything up,
drop the ball,
run off with the cheque I'm supposed to be faithfully depositing,
and explode all over those grey pinstriped motherfuckers!!
With all the twisted and distressed ieas of mine
that have gone unexpressed
and gotten
half-mangled and half-forgotten
and perverted by my squelched imagination into
poetic acts of vengeance...
But then I stop and I say to myself,
NO!
What I'm really afraid of is NOT bursting,
Because that means the fuckers have beat me afterall.