I Work

So that I can pay the rent
and buy a meagre meal a day,
I work.

Day in,
day out,
I wonder if it'll ever get better,
and I work

So that I can buy drinks and tokes sometimes,
so that I can live without being driven mad with "life,"
I work

Day in,
day out,
I fill out my punchcard,
pick up my little cheque,
and again,
I work.

So that I can one day move in with the one dearest to my heart,
so that I can treat him sometimes
rather than be the passive, lazy woman of bygone times,
I work.

And day in,
day out,
I come home,
sing out my frustrations with my playlists,
sleep through my despair,
and then I work.

So that I can see the world,
so that I can work in the world I want to see,
I work.

And day in and day out,
I scream in every empty field I find―
once for every time the bell over the door rings,
twice for every BASTARD that walks through the door,
thrice for EVERY TIME the offspring of HYENAS tell me why I shouldn't work in SCREECHING tones―.

And day in,
and day out,
I greet these people with a fake smile,
and fix my mind firmly on the day when―for this lifetime, at the very least―
I will never
ever
have to work again.