This might be insanity.
Day in,
day out,
punch a clock
in a world where time is a prison.
Wake, sleep, repeat
and there is an expectation of sanity?
Even the rules of this place
are insane.
So I draw a line,
with a broken pen
and say
“This far and no further!”
I hold my ground
for about a second;
never run so fast in my life.
So I play by the rules
for a decade.
I play domestic,
punch a clock,
buy that ring,
sell my soul,
for four walls
and a roof
and two cars
and I pretend to love it.
I get told,
often,
that I should be thankful.
That I am working hard
to be successful,
but it’s hollow
and heartless
and pointless.
One day,
I found a little spark of madness,
hidden,
way down,
squished into a corner
under a pile of debt and worry;
and it is wonderful.
No longer bound
by deadlines
and thought police word balloons;
I decide to stretch my own narrative,
because even the title of
“Aspiring Hack Writer”
holds a touch more danger
than “Mortgage Account #: 997314”.
Even the bad words
are better than the good looks
gleaned from vapid day-to-day commerce.
I can love
and explore
and cry
and even hate again,
because it’s all okay.
That little piece of madness
freed me from an insane world.
Let me face the next dawn
with smile on my face
and a pen in hand
and another irrational desire
to create the world in my own image.
If time shall be my prison,
then it shall also be my canvas.
When times got dark,
I set myself on fire
and lit my own way.
HG – 2017
I love it when someone digs through the archives and likes a piece I had forgotten about. I write for you.