A Title is a title is a title is a Donut.

we are all just

titles,

you and me.

the difference

being that I

can name myself

whatever I want.

On Monday:

a Creative Curator

with Experience

in Imagery and a Pension

for Curiosity. On Friday:

a Directour of Editorial Dichotomous

Work with a Side Hustle

for going about my day

Naked,

online.

You see,

the only difference

between us,

is that You

hold yourself

to that which

you dreamt

years ago. No adaptation.

You Make the Donuts™.

–or rather watch

the Donuts be Made™,

as you sit

atop your Title

and say, “Ah yes,

Here I am.”

There is no where

left for you to go.

No title change you

could ever

desire, because

you are happy

in your beer

and your 1/8th of

a donut (times 8).

Whiskey will

keep your head straight.

But only if it’s winter.

Cheers to that.

Not to say

we don’t all have

our vices, and

Not to say

that comfort

and security

aren’t rewards

of their own;

Not even to say that

they are forever

or for everyone–

but for you

it shall always be

sitting atop

the same Title.

observing the

same flavored

donut, in a factory

you don’t

even look around in,

anymore.

You encourage

what you know,

and stopped

questioning

what you don’t,

long ago.

When you made

it to the T

you said,

“I can rest

now; mind, body

and soul.”

Or maybe I see it all

wrong. But

this recorded conduct

did not come from

the tips of my fingers

with malice, or fictitious

memories.

They came from

remembering

watching you,

as you carefreely

pushed work upon those

drowning,

and ignored

the titles so

far

below

you.

You didn’t

do this with

the intention

to push

anyone under,

you just

fostered an environment

where people

aren’t allowed

to drown.

And maybe

our vibes

are just different,

because there is

no hate here.

Only the realization

that there is

success to be found

within,

rather than

atop a title

or below the surface.

On one thing

we wholly agree–

It just

wasn’t a

good fit.