I hate working full time

“I hate working full time because every hour I spend working I feel like I am not living life, but I am working on the possibility of momentarily enjoying it”

Its the beauty of hours twisting themselves into a lock

Its the sadness of wisps of smoke emanating from the clock

As you realize that time is no longer your friend

And that passion is something unwilling to bend

It requires more than mere butterflies flapping in your gut

Its the dark lining devoid of any shimmers gracing your rut

I am broken, tired and worse of all not as creative as I should be

My fingers itch, my eyes tear up and my heart feels empty

My head is heavy and my life has cracks hiding behind black tape

But my sky is forever in a starless, moonless night state

So all I see is the grey at the edge of the frame

I feel like I am more and its driving me insane

I feel like I can do more, and I am tired of the banging

My soul is bleeding with a cracked skull from slamming it into the wall

Goosebumps run down my spine as the drops of blood fall

And all I want is my creativity to once again be charming

To write as if the clouds are raining tears of regret

To hear my heartbeat pound with every new concept I get

To hear my spirit giggle with every sentence I create

And to get mad at myself for every word I forget

To convey every thought I love, to dispel everything I hate

Hear the whispers of my creative being be told to be quiet

By a demanding albeit comfortable bubble of routine

I am constantly losing all of myself in a dream

Because all I want it write, all I want is to be creative

But this eternal chase for currency is driving me into the arms of normality

And I hate that bitch more than any words I can find

In a heartbeat I would leave this comfortable hell behind

But my word is my shackle, my pride is my demise

I find myself slowly believing all these lies

Maybe my determination just isnt strong enough

Maybe my willpower fell asleep at the wheel and I crashed into a fulltime position

Maybe my stubbornness wanted to change its disposition

I dont know what it was, or what it is

But all I know is that I am slowly but surely dying in this hell of comfort

I need something new, I need something to inspire me

I need something to push me, something to motivate me

Money will never be enough to satisfy me, empty pieces of paper can never fill a soul

I want more

More out of life

More out of me

More out of the possibilities

I want to live

I want to be me

Free


Now that I am back on the full time force, it feels as if I am losing everything I build up. All the hours I spent creating something I can be proud of, seem to crumble as I work my days away. I used to be able to wake up, and be creative and stay creative. Now I have to manage my creativity and it seems that my creativity isnt one to be treated like that. Its all or nothing with my creativity. Perhaps I spoiled it with all the freedom and attention it was getting. To have its time to shine be diminished to mere minutes between shifts might just be more than it could handle. I used to be a freelancer, free to do as I pleased. And I loved every second of it. Every “no money having” second, every “dont know how to pay these bills” second. Every “I might need to try something else to make some money, but not a job” second. Yes, I loved it. And perhaps because of that I feel a little creatively constipated. And its not that I dont have any time, because that would be the lamest excuse I can give you. But I truly feel like my creativity can do so much more. So much F’ing more.

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