Performance is the worst possible backseat driver.
Performance puts in long hours,
But quite frankly it’s needy.
I want to go right,
But I can do things better on the left,
So I fly left.
My little metrics pusher guiding my wheel.
Performance is born of pride and pressure.
I, Little package of blood and bone, need to find my own place to go.
My subconscious is a group project with many subcommittees.
Hopefully there are people much smarter than me
Making some of these decisions.
As it stands,
I have my hand in an oil can
While building a house from matches.
At night I fear silence so I whisper my anthems to God,
I spend the day trying to be a kite-
And then burning every kite in a 10 mile radius because I’m mad I failed.
The wind in the conifers beckons,
Yet the subcommittees have all voted no,
And I cry in my yard
and don’t understand why I do