The Tired Working Man Poem by Andrus Cassian

The Tired Working Man



One more time, I must reiterate one more time
that I'm not complaining
I'm for once trying to find the bright side
of this inflatable balloon called life
with a glass half full point of view
but my bottle is all the way empty and I feel like throwing up
Are the palms of my hands
supposed to turn beat purple, a sugarplum
Everything below my neck is radiating with pain
I'm breathing just fine, I feel alright
but I'm craving my bed something fierce
even though all my bed is just a blanket and pillow
let's hope I get to sleep tonight, sleep has never been kind to me
Let's call it a truce, we can fight again once it hits morning
but before I knew it, I'm back on the clock again
an hour and a half in, able to take a break
The job's not to blame
it's fine, I'm not worried
is what I want to say but I'm more frustrated with myself
I'm trying to prove way too much in too short a time span
I know what I'm doing, I know how to get it done
but I have two left feet, a glacier on my shoulder
as I try to do everything myself
When I see someone help me, I know that I'm failing
and that pushes me to do better, to do more
but the carpet trips up my feet again
tumbling I go, a house of cards to a strong wind
slowing production, repeating the cycle
of this condemnation of my self esteem
I hate this fully, I feel dirty and gritty
no ifs, ands, or buts
If this was me 10 months ago
I would've been out the door faster than anyone could know
but I'm riding this out
This is my own routine maintenance
Despite my account of bitterness and I have so much more to bear
This sentence is an editor's note
I really don't belong here
I'm actually grateful for once for this hardship
It's making me stronger, though I'm worried for my chest
It's starting to feel bigger than it should
I must be holding my breath so I don't suffocate on my own air
I need to open my mouth or I'll start to hyperventilate
I got 5 mins left to enjoy
the quiet hum of refrigerators in this empty room
Just quickly I want to thank Aaron West and the Roaring Twenties
for their entire album, "Routine Maintenance"
Thank you Dan Campbell and The Wonder Years…
but staring at the cuts on my thumb, the scars growing on my hands
I wish I had my music to play in my ears
listen to the bands I grew up with, new and old
sing despair without fear
On sore legs I want to collapse
I keep trying to change in a day knowing it doesn't work like that
frustrated with myself and my performance
it's another bad rainy day in my head
Send me home, send me away
I won't get that luxury
I won't get that wish, I got nearly an hour left
might as well pull through
To those reading this, to those have followed me since day
Thank you, I thank you
Reach out to me if you need to
If you want to, I'll do my best to listen
I could use more friends
I could use some extra motivation to fight through this
but I'll be here to deliver my word-like vlogs
I guess you'd call it blogs?
Either way here I sign off, I got detestable work to return to
Raise your hands to the sky, share with me some energy
Mother knows I need it
Maribelle please, give me some comfort
I'll be home soon…
but even when I get home sleep is an afterthought, a fable after all
There I am, laying in the dark
while the TV screen tries its very best to lull me to sleep

Monday, June 3, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: tired,work
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