Tagged: driven

Don’t Give Up.



A skirmish rages in the hearts of many,
a soul searing battle waged hard-nosed
and to the end,
a scuffle between the many versions and
visions of ourselves that have come to pass,
and those that have not yet tasted the wind…
the age old tousle between
what your parents wanted, versus
what you thought you couldn’t be, versus
what society taught you that you wanted, versus
what you thought you should be, versus
what you thought you could be, versus
what you know you’re really meant to be…
each one has a score to settle,
and each one desperately wants a hunk
of the pie,
each wants to set their flag fluttering
at the peak, but in the end,
we have to make that climb,
and we have to decide who will set our
we have to decide who will grab our hand
when our footing slips,
or who will help to light our way when all
above and below us goes dark-
in the end, the battle is with ourselves…
once we discover what we’re really meant to
be, the battle is won..
there can only be one victor, and in the battle
between selves, one way or another, we will
come through,
and what truly wins is the acceptance of
what IS…
which is the acceptance of peace*

-G. Boston

Monotony – A Story – Part 6

A sharp shudder awoke me from those old thoughts, and the quintessential office cacophony of keyboard clicks, ringing phones, and light chatter swirled around my ears like bad porn music. I’d only dozed off for a scant few minutes, and traded a (quite pleasant) humorous dream for a very real corporate prison cell. Not a good swap; those dreams and daydreams were the fuel that propelled me through the persistent tedium of the day. My screen stared back at me with rows upon rows of untouched work, a dull mishmash of numbers and letters, reports and spreadsheets that I’d scarcely mastered after all the years being there. Those rows and worksheets stared at me with dead, drab, critical eyes, and I stared back at it with equal scorn. It was abnormally cold in the cubicle that morning, and the fluorescent lights above shone down as coldly as a winter star. In the office, it was always either too hot or too cold…as if working in a state of discomfort was somehow great for productivity. I was dreaming of zombies again that day, and those raggedy bastards managed to grab hold of me and tear the hell out of my jugular. Again. I deftly flicked a bit of morning crust from the corner of my eyes and squinted hard in an attempt to refocus them on the computer screen that I’d been staring at for hours; a gang of work needed to be done, and it was only 9 a.m.