Performance Review

They break you down

like water and wind and salt

on rock—

a slow rhythm of abuse.

Passive aggressive emails

pointing out how they would do things

differently.

***

“Good Morning” 😃

right before they bleed your boundaries dry

with a calendar invite titled Check-In

that steals another hour of your life

to say nothing you didn’t already know

except—

they need control to feel tall.

***

They call it leadership.

You feel the slow erosion.

They drain passion

like vampires with agendas—

no fangs, just “feedback,”

no blood, just joy.

***

You used to love this work.

Remember that?

Before every idea had to clear

the ego, the insecurities,

the critique of a person

who hasn’t done the job

since Reagan was in office,

who didn’t get the results you’ve gotten,

but who still wants to tell you how it’s done.

***

They micromanage professionals

like children with scissors—

hovering, correcting,

“re-vamping” strategies

that were already sharp,

adding commas

where confidence used to be.

***

Micro-aggressions stack like paper cuts:

• “Just checking in.”

• “Let’s circle back.”

• “Help me understand.”

Translation: I don’t trust you.

***

Fake pleasantries drip

like syrup over rust—

sweet enough to swallow,

thick enough to choke.

***

They say, “We’re a family,”

but families don’t track your bathroom breaks

or ask why you needed a sick day

like illness is a moral failure.

***

They confuse compliance for respect,

silence for alignment,

burnout for loyalty.

And when you finally stop offering ideas,

stop staying late,

stop caring the way you used to—

they’ll say you’ve “changed.”

***

Yeah.

So did the air after the fire.

***

You weren’t lazy.

You weren’t difficult.

You weren’t the problem.

***

You were skilled.

You were driven.

You were dangerous to small people in big chairs

who rule by draining rooms instead of filling them.

***

They don’t lead—

they leech.

They don’t inspire—

they audit your soul

until passion clocks out

and never punches back in.

***

So if you feel hollow,

if the work you loved feels like punishment now,

hear me clearly:

***

They didn’t refine you.

They extracted you.

***

And one day—

when the rooms are quiet,

the talent gone,

the energy dead—

they’ll still be smiling,

asking why no one cares anymore.

***

And finally,

they’ll have their answer.