I don’t want anything.
I don’t live for myself anymore
(I don’t know if I ever did)
hold on, work texted and I can’t afford to lose the hours I’ll be back soon
maybe in a month when I find the energy to pick up all the me-time I vomited onto the carpet when I signed contract after contract exchanging pennies for livelihood.
am I alive?
my time clock certainly thinks so.
and since we make love every sunup and sundown nothing knows my curvature more intimately
nothing hugs my hollow ribs with more carnal desire than that which stands to gain a lifetime of my supply and I spitfire to a highflier saying
“please sir can I just have enough money to eat this week”
I gotta rewire
my brain into believing this is living
and yes, I am on the clock right now, thank you for noticing
you know, I would love to make dinner every night.
blacken salmon on the stovetop to show myself a charred heart still tastes delicious
so when I show up on time leaking my lifeblood from my ears
speaking out a throat still scratchy from the nightmares of two weeks ago
I do my due diligence
and you won’t ever see my feet dragging on that tile floor when I answer with another
“yes sir”
I don’t want anything.
except maybe a heartbeat below 92
and a living wage that matches the housing market
a slow morning with light peeking in through the blinds
convincing me I wasn’t peaking in college when I still had a personality on full display
now I gotta sneak in any vestiges of my good intentions
what a cheap win
I answer to your needs with a weak grin
but I’m tired
I am simply spread thin
my bills bounce upon my stretched skin like a trampoline
hands outstretched in comfort left cold, watching money dwindle
I was eighteen
when my veins became a cocktail of citalopram and lamotrigine
moods stabilized like my income isn’t
I am dead on my feet
but, hey, at least I don’t have to watch zombie movies anymore, I can just look in a mirror
people ask me how I’m doing, I say
“you know, I’m ruled by fear”
because time is precious and I haven’t done small talk since I started working 60 hours
it is hot in here
and not only is time precious but it’s also money so it will stay hot in here
scalding like the realization that what I want don’t mean shit
to the people who sign my paychecks
I gotta pay rent
and I resent any implications that I’m just not working hard enough
look at the frequency at which I get my steps in and tell me I’m not working hard enough
watch me take my medication every night like a dedicated cog stuck in the grinding gears of “just do it” and tell me I’m not working hard enough
watch my bones wither and turn brittle and stay bitter
seeping through all that I am from the sour taste I wake up with
I stand in the middle
dutifully checking boxes, checking options so I stay wishful
solving the riddle of what makes life worth living
while relatives meddle in a life they don’t understand because they were taught your work is where you get your value
measure all I’ve done to put me here and try to tell me my life doesn’t have value
take a look at the work I’ve put in and the passion I’ve hooked to my chest like a badge of honor
and the faith in the world that I mistook and gave back when big business told me a roof over my head is not a given and tell me you think I will give in
to the notion that life is nothing more than punching in and punching out
starting now I am punching up
making myself my own startup
because I am worth more than the crick in my neck born of tension from long hours
worth more than the bit of respect I’m tossed like a bone on performance reviews
my life is not that kind of work and that is my power
my time clock is right I’m alive and these hands don’t spin in circles they devour
until those struggling to feed themselves gorge on all the possibilities
turning encompassing rage into a livable wage and the world becomes ours
I do want something. I just refuse to sell it for table scraps. I’m clocking out.
6/28/24 4:47pm
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