A CREATIVE’S SUICIDE NOTE

 It’s another Monday at the office

The click-clack of keyboards

Lingering scents of herb roasted coffee-

Freshly done manicures

A quick flash back to a weekend that forces a smile

But, only for a little

-there are some serious things going on in the world

We’re still in the middle of it

This fucking pandemic

But that isn’t my only resentful thought.

It’s usually low energy around here after the weekend

No one actually speaks

I can’t say I mind.

Anyway, today I feel extra consumed by my thoughts

And lucky for me, that usually gets my creativity flowing

It’s been a bit of a drought in that area

A great deal of anxiety, feeling sorry for myself and a dose of resentment

And here I am, typing away.

Today my loudest thoughts are a solid four words

Why -am -I -here?

And it isn’t long before they have escaped my mind

Landing on the tip of my tongue, eager to burst through my lips

But I stop myself.

After all, my entire existence is based on my ability to hide my emotions

Wear a pretty smile and conceal the dark stuff

I have become quite the Professional.

-They never know.

I’m throwing myself a pity party

Found myself a play list of songs about feeling sad, or tired

And even heartbroken

I always manage to fit the mood

I’m ranting now

I do that a lot

Especially now, especially when my thoughts are more than the words I manage to type

If this were paper and pen

I’d have a mountain of papers crumbled--not good enough--

What the fuck am I doing?

I don’t 'got" it

I’ve managed to murder my creative side

 becoming a homeless stray to everyone’s perception of reality

Killing dreams, in an effort to fit in here

I live here

At least I try...…