Wedging my entire kaleidescopic Self into
the narrow slot of acceptable-in-the-corporate-world,
requires that I reign in my impulses
my imagination
my desires.
I cannot make all the dirty jokes that flicker through my mind,
nor can I use all the flowery language at my disposal
when detailing the procedure for filing a particular form.
I am full to bursting, much of the time,
with ideas and poems and raunchy puns.
It is a good exercise in self-control, I suppose,
but it wears on me.
I want to dance naked in the rain
and lie in a hammock with a book in my hands
(one I will devour at some later time,
but may never open
as I watch the leaves dance overhead,
or watch my eyelids disappear in the distance
as I wander deep inside the paths of my own mind...)
I daydream too much
and write too little.
Time to find some balance.
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