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.
