A Three-Piece I’m Not Hungry For – Day 28, Never Give Up On Your Dreamz

Ties,
Ties,
Ties!
They just don’t suit me right.
Feels more like,
A noose choking to death,
The kind of tranquil man I yearn to become in a world ran by financial success and duress,
And…
A suit is not part of who I am,
Nor ever will it be for as long as I hold a journal and a pen…

It’s the only place where I can smile and never feel bad for it,
Nor the need to force it,
The same way I must yell at myself to wear a uniform for a,
Job where I clock in more time thinking of a line I store in my pocket,
More often than a worthless dollar…

Money can make a snake hiss and a wildcat holler.
Money can make a bitch dance and bark for a glamoured imposter,
Tricking them with a treat they’ll eventually ween off of when hallowed by the nightmares they’ll foster.
But,
Money can’t make a poet budge,
Being that the kind of paper we want is empty of costs unaffordable by most of us…

All money does,
Is strip you of freedom granted by the One above,
Regardless if you believe it or not while living a lie only you can make up,
As a con touring through a world meant for everyone,
To feel joy in the face of disaster…

But,
What choice do some have other than laying on a bed,
Broken,
In more ways than one while chasing after,
A dragon possessing breath of flame pumping brittle lungs with smoke bound to collapse their,
Dreams we’re all allowed to water.
With tears of delight instead of sorrow so common,
In a world where a boss,
Who’s not a boss,
Grabs you by the collar.
Like a dog!
Fetching after another’s goal rather than your own.
As you’re strangled while puzzled by your failure to prosper…

Normal it is not,
And,
Most of us know it…

Acting is not a strong suit for a soul wearing their emotions,
For everyone to see without expecting to go in,
Anyone’s wallet while wallowing alone with,
A drug in one hand because of their hopelessness…

And,
I’m exhausted from acting.
As an old-fashioned man,
I’m inclined to bring to a close what wouldn’t bode well for my sanity.
Address my sobriety and cast out each lie keeping me from writing a story where,
I’m the protagonist.
From the prologue to the epilogue jotting itself through the strength of my actions…

A three-piece suit and a check?
No.
Give me a pen and a pad with,
A chance to make another person grin no matter what my past was…