This Deadend Job

(This is a work of make-believe only, like all other poems. It is not real or related to myself.)

This deadend job of mine

Is toiling ahead in the pursuit of despair

Self casting into storm holes of guilt and shame

No shades of questions to contemplate

Or room to argue for an “okay”

Or truth to obey by papered black and whites

Sent snapshots probably for the display, oh hey!

The high nose pride chauvinistic boss

The colleagues selfish to consider a foot

The welfare system is a show of face

Procedures a mess of organized games

Employees hammered on carded disgrace

Deadend, deadend

Dead to the end and chained to the desk

Can’t attain potential figure growing sales

Lose the mark of your future so quickly down ladder

Soul-blind and salary baited one continues

When all happiness does and cries Gawd, I’m so confused!

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).

Perfect In The Broken

Hello Broken, how have you been today?

Are you still finding the perfect in the broken you?

You should know that you are not so neat, prim-groomed and tidy,

Not so ladylike day and night when a lady,

Not so best in everything you are supposed to be at home, work and else,

At best still quite broke as a broken.

You could still be who you want to,

Find the perfect in your broken,

Strike a pose of confidence,

As you tell them “I am Who!”

In the clothes you love to wear,

That natural without powdering up when people meet you.

For if they find you smiling all day,

Close to the falling edge,

All will know you ran away the chaos and endured the roast,

And so it is this piece of distress you cannot blame.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Nobody's Child

Harry sat on the wire of a fence,

Looking at his life melt away,

When Fog came today,

Into the dusk of the demesne.

Blur shadows overcast manors,

Dancing different forms with the light.

Same forlorn figure at the bus stop,

Travelling his own reflection years ago.

Ashamed, remembering why all this while,

This empty and heartless world,

Never gave more chances to exile,

Hard truths, bitter moments,

Back to ready budding, consoling warmer homes.

Am I loser? Am I not wanted?

A nobody’s child without protectors or guardians,

Roots cripple to its shorter brother,

In the dead search of safer earth after earth.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.