I once dreamed of pouring my heart into a craft, finding joy in the details and pride in the progress. I wanted to work with dedication, to build something meaningful and give my best effort every single day. But reality has a way of shifting priorities. Now, I find myself chasing deadlines not to perfect the work, but to ensure the salary arrives on payday. The focus isn't on quality or passion anymore, it’s simply about making sure the numbers add up so I can keep going another month.
Transaction of Time
I clock in not with a spark or a call,
But with the weight of bills that never fall.
My hands move fast, my mind drifts far away,
To places where my spirit has its say.
I do the work that others might adore,
But for me, it’s just a ticket to the door.
A means to buy the bread and pay the rent,
Not something that my heart is truly meant.
No late nights spent to make the project shine,
No pride in making every detail fine.
I give the minimum required to get by,
And watch the minutes crawl across the sky.
They speak of passion, purpose, and career,
But I just see the end of every year.
My dedication lies in what I earn,
Not in the lessons that the job might learn.
It’s not that I’m lazy or that I don’t care,
But this work was never meant to be my share.
I sell my hours to make the living cost,
And keep my true self safe from being lost.
Yet, I hold onto a quiet hope that things can change. Perhaps one day, the burden of survival will lighten, and I can return to this work with a renewed spirit. I dream of a time when I can serve to the best of my ability, when the goal is to make a real difference rather than just making it look nice on paper. Until then, I wait for that shift in perspective where dedication becomes possible again.
