Work

Work to live
Live to die
Another forty years
Of nine to five?

Food,warmth shelter
None of that is free
Yet all of those things
I need to provide for me.

Trade your time
For dirty money
Forty hours a week
Doesn’t keep me comfy!

It’s dull; unfulfilling
It’s not my dream.
Permanently at the bottom
Of this pyramid scheme.

But I have no option
The chore, that is work
I have to accept my fate
No matter how hard it hurts.

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Third Floor Poet

What am I doing?
My heart ain’t in this
And if I can’t give my all
I’d rather give it a miss.

Look where I am
Look what I’m doing
Writing on the low
My real dream I’m pursuing.

My secret little spot
On the third floor
Where it’s nice and quiet
The place I adore.

A comfy place to sit
As I write rhymes
That keep me going
All through the night.

Need to make a move
As time is just wasting
This dead end job
To me is procrastinating.

Monday 4th January

First Monday back
6AM alarm drives me insane
For the next forty years
I refuse to live this way.

I’ve come back to earth
A few millions won’t find me
I’d much rather earn my buck
Plus there’s more of a guarantee.

I want to be excited
To jump out of bed at six
To feel as if I’m getting up
To go on a luxury trip.

I simply want to love
What I do on a day to day
Whether I’m busy working
Or letting off steam as I play.

I’m certain it can happen
I just need to figure it out
Never give up on it
And never cast any doubt.

Early Weekends

Don’t you hate that feeling
When you’re tired but can’t sleep
You’ve tried everything
From hot drinks to counting sheep.

Your eyelids demand rest
Though your brain is on fire
Do you go with your mind
Or fulfil what your eyes desire?

It’s worse on the weekends
When you awake super early
Your eyes bloodshoot red
Rather than white and pearly.

It’s all due to work
Why I can’t sleep late
My body stuck in the routine
Of getting up early every day.

Sunday

Back to hell tomorrow 

Another week of crap

Wondering what I’ll hear this time

When silly lips are flapped. 


I’m waiting for sly racism 

I’ve started to expect it now 

Along with the bitching 

About how so-and-so’s a cow. 


Then there’ll be boasting 

About superficial lives 

Some indirect comments 

That are meant to cut like knives.


By Friday I’ll be deaf

My headphones turned up

To drown out the nonsense 

So to me, they’ve shut up. 


I’m hoping by now 

I’ve toughened up enough 

So when I hear them speaking

I can nip it in the bud. 


Despite all the B.S

As always, I’ll remain polite

Keep myself to myself

Not get involved, keep quiet.

Scrounging Leeches

Working real hard 

Putting my soul and heart in

Just to have to witness

These scroungers constant partying. 


You chose to get pregnant

Whilst you were underage

Knowing you couldn’t support yourself

Thus stealing the tax payers wage. 


Please don’t get me wrong 

As not everyone is the same 

There’s definitely some out there 

Who want to pave their own way. 


But it’s the ones who are proud 

Of the leeching way they live 

They’d never ever say no 

To what people are forced to give. 


It truly is painful 

Especially when you work hard 

For someone just to take you money

For doing nothing – it’s really absurd.