It’s Not Yet Payday
Confessions of a gnawing soul.
It’s not yet payday.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 months of working hard.
Five months of busting my ass on the job, school works that don’t make sense half of the relevant things in the world,
school works that steal the life out of me, steal the ear that listens to what its worth,
blindfold the eyes to what should be seen and clamps the mouth to what should be said, School.
1,2,3,4,5 months of working on a piece. Countless sleepless nights and countless empty bottles of Prozac and alcohol lying on my bedroom floor. The piece is a piece of shit just like the one who was making it.
1,2,3,4,5 trophies I’ve got in hand. My intellect radiating on the dull four corners of the room. I am smart,
I am so brilliant that I feel like I’m the sun, rising, burning, radiating, putting the other lights off because I’m beaming.
I am so smart you see? I’ve got five medals hanging around my neck I can’t even move I’m stiff.
1,2,3,4,5 missed calls I sent my mom. Why isn’t she answering my call? Was I not screaming hard enough? Was I not loud? Why does it seem like she’s not proud?
I could drop all of these five’s and run to the cliff so I could dive.
Because if it weren’t for your guilt-driven life and your guilt-driven love, I probably could have become
I was made of five layers of guilt. This mind, this heart, this intellect. I’d rather be an idiot than be a guilt-driven Newton and you, are gravity. You hold me by my neck, your standards are magnetic.
And I learned. I learned how to think. Think fast, think differently, think dangerously.
1,2,3,4,5, degrees and 2 masters. It doesn’t matter. I want to become an architect but instead, I became a lunatic.
Five long years of working and working and working. I am burned out, so I made a voluntary time out. On the way home, I think of rewards and happiness. I checked on my bank account.
Zero balance, it says. I’m still in the period of drought.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 seconds. Five seconds left before I would lose my count.
I closed my eyes. “How much longer?” I asked.
“Be patient,” I replied.
It’s not yet payday.
