I am a mess

I wanted to get a job but now I'm not so sure if i should

And what i usually do there, besides the daily grind of work, my clerical tasks and certain participation in workshops is

Complete utter nonsense and irrelevant to what others think about me. 

They think i have such a good work ethic that I'm willing to do whatever people say i should do

Well

They should take that falsely motivated speech and shove it somewhere...

I am merely myself anymore

What they deem "professional" I deem "Self-destruction at a Glance"

No wonder i wanna give up on my life right now

I can barely type the truth of the matter of which i wish to speak.

I am incompetent of dealing with changes in my life

They all have consequences anyway that don't benefit me.

Am i being selfish,

Am i being me

Am i selfish if i desire something other than a job

I have no passion to follow other then the tattletales 

I weave about certain types of people I've been fascinated with

Since childhood

I may seem like an adult but technically

On the surface of what's supposedly my life

It is merely only an act

I'm trying to make myself feel better by

Talebearing tales that have already been finished

And pretending to market happiness on other people's lives

Is it the wrong thing to do if it makes me happy?

IS IT

No wonder what goes around comes around

I mean, with a "talent" like telling other people's stories and then

Make up fantasies and shit about what "doesn't happen in their lives but should"

I feel like a sham

Scratch that,

I feel like I been a sham

Sure, I write such great poetry, but

It won't ever help me in the workplace 

Which at this rate I won't ever gain access to if i don't win the "vocational competition" we call life and get paid for it.

I desire to follow my heart and it's telling me to become a writer.

But on the surface, fiction-wise,

my stories aren't mine.

and the inspirations i getto even pretend to market, even without a license of some sort, those aren't mine either

Yet, it still makes me happy and i feel it's how i connect to other people 

Through whom, not just what, has inspired them over their lifespan

But

I fear one day

Those falsehood stories which i weave with such low self-esteem, yet my imagination desires it so

I know they will all come back to haunt me as soon as i get a job,

 or if any aspect of my life that's NOT in my comfort zone should be drastically changed

Or worse, eliminated

Then what will happen to me

Would i be known as one of those "Poor Unfortunate Souls"

Those people who get sent to jail, or be put in a mental institution

or worse, be stripped out of all of their comforts, and forced to panhandle 

UGH!

It's official

I'm shit 

T-T