Job.
I hate working.
I'm really good at my job, kind of the best over all the rest at doing what I do.
Dealing with headaches and sleep problems, I can't get comfortable and the light bothers my eyes. I am a credit card issue answering know-it-all. I know your spending habits, I know when your lying, and I hear your concern, I just don't care, most days. Be glad I'm willing to help, because I rather just stop your ranting.
I hate working. Like my job, this is all I care to write on the matter. Stop screaming at me, because I hate working.
About this poem
I wrote this originally as a text to my boyfriend. Ive been worming my way out of work every possible way. Volunteering to be the first one to leave, and last one to arrive. I'm the beat at my job, I just got a raise, I have great benefits and I am kinda a big deal. However. I have a headache that's lasted 3 weeks and I am so done with it.
Written on February 07, 2024
Submitted by angelitarivera620 on February 07, 2024
- 33 sec read
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Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABAA |
---|---|
Characters | 543 |
Words | 107 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 4 |
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"Job." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 27 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/182271/job.>.
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