An Idiot's Anthem
You hung up hope with your coat before you
snuggled down with me and you called it ‘coping'.
Well that’s a disdainful way to shy-away from everything you could’ve been,
and I’m sick of you getting high in room
glooms hiding under twelve tog tombs; it’s
a kick to the back teeth knowing you’re
better than this,
but you’d rather stay in bed again
'cos your 'eyelids hurt and your
feet are asleep’.
Now you’re throwing sums away, son, both
mental and those minted ones, on forgetting
what it feels like to be the first footprints
anywhere. You’ve money to waste not money
to burn, so place it all on next turns in
present tense because reeling in the slack
of these self taught Chinese burns are hijacking hands into shackles
and then how are you meant to learn.
Investment should overrule despair
not cement it
and you know that,
just like how an albatross has the wing span of the sky
and you’re wearing one around your neck mourning the guy you once were.
Where did your concern go?
When did it last occur?
'Cos it's not in your pockets or next to their purse,
it's not with your keys or left behind at birth,
you can’t just lose necessity like this,
make up a life in between,
as that's not how this shit works:
it’s a business not a dream.
Potential is about breaking down the now into baby steps,
reaching the end of a minute before you’ve put the last hour in context.
Those online productivity tests
Buzzfeed quizzes to see if your adequate enough
only evaluate the level of procrastination you possess:
1) they do not score you on your achievements, and
2) accurately guess your favourite foods, compile them into convenient lists,
instead they collect your time,
express-deliver it to third party syndicates of highest bidders and their marketing associates
who will make more from this
than you will ever do.
Money doesn't guarantee success only graft does
and even then it's slim at best,
and as soon as you get out of bed
you will learn this,
depressed set of limbs.
Now wake up.