Can’t believe I’m sittin here in this hell- room again; seething like country bacon in a southern diner. Refuting smiles with a creased brow and brown lips refusing to flex for common courtesy.
I ain’t here for your ‘Good morning!’
This ain’t the joy I expected to come when I cried my pillow into a cloud and prayed for warmth in my winter.
So many faces, bumbling voices, fidgeting glances, and bowed heads holding digital mirrors that reflect the need to be anywhere but here.
I probably ain’t the only one awaiting amnesty from this lesson in being a good little correspondent for the seventh sin.
Probably ain’t the only one praying for a white collar to exorcise me from this demon of ice breaking introductions, paperwork, and communal dishonesty-
None of us really WANT to be here. And if you do, repent and ask for salvation. You haven’t buried your faith deep enough to yield a mustard tree.
I’m here feeding the machine that digitizes human beings instead of trusting my wings so I can fly above this degradation.
Bet I’m the only one writing a poem right now, and if I’m not, then we should rebel; make a break for it; find some way to bypass this necessary hell ’cause it hasn’t been 30 minutes yet and I’m considering giving in to the final notices if it’ll lift me from Darwin’s infernal Inferno; A burning I left 3 years ago to pursue 2 more dollars that didn’t amount to a hill of dreams (only material things.)
And I know I can’t sneak to write poems all day. Ain’t no phones permitted when you work for the companies that own them.
I know I can’t escape, in an instant, to the Gram to create stories of capitalist unrest or memes mimicking men desperate for off-days.
I’ma have to lie soon enough.
Smooth out my brow, flex my brown lips, and growl politely as I introduce myself to people I have no desire to know
Hi, my name is OneVoice, I have a cat. Oh, and I really wish money didn’t motivate me to postpone my dreams to hold on to things I really don’t need.
Like this job.