[A poem I wrote a few years ago, pissed off with job applications, and fished up today. Because some angst just comes back to haunt you.]
How does one express their essence,
In a box?
If a picture is to represent a thousand words
Are you restricting me
To a fragment of a photograph?
I resent your games,
I resent your inhumanity
I despise its necessity
I mourn my compliance.
Does this mark the beginning of my spiritual death?
Am I to henceforth put across my thoughts to a word limit?
Will my ideas be similarly censored?
My inquisitive nature, stunted?
My wonderment, cast aside?
I shall seek refuge in the ideas of others,
In the poems in which I once found possibility,
And the music which gave me hope.
I shall hope that I shall maintain the capacity to dream,
To protect the part of myself that sets me apart,
I am not the sum of my grades,
Nor the text on my curriculum vitae.
I am the life I have led,
And the life I have yet to.
This you shall never know,
This I shall hang onto.
Within this box, I present my current thoughts.
And wonder how anyone can sum up their lives in the same number of words.
This I yearn to write but dare not.
I am conforming.