Walk in, chat, feel welcomed and held.
I’m rated by bosses, part of the meld.
Means a lot to belong, when everything else
could be me, alone, days become dense.
It’s regular work, though boring old admin
that takes me away from what I’ve been yearning.
Bored. Hate it. Feel something else is calling.
I can teach, write, blog, and be free.
Fear of unknown is what keeps me here
and a deep-down blankie of safety.
If I leave, what’ll become of my time:
squandered, wasted, wishing-well drowned?
I can meet new people, be open to new things
Be alert and fit, not a slave to alarm rings.
Can’t trust myself to follow my dream.
End up bereft, broke, regretting my tears.
Run out of urges. Can’t remember the pull
to be free of misery, detached from the dull.
Perhaps there’s a part of me that isn’t done yet.
Maybe a lesson to learn, an unspun pirouette?
Love the way you separated your poem also into a list format. Great job!
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