While I Smile on Break

They ask me if I’m happy here—

I laugh, too loud, like it’s a joke.

I say, “It’s fine. I’m lucky.”

Truth is: I swallow glass

each time I clock in.

My resume grows moss,

sleeps in forgotten folders

like a dream I don’t dare open.

The cover letters sound so polite,

but each one whispers get me out

between bullet points and buzzwords.

I scroll job listings

on lunch breaks that taste

like plastic and desperation.

Every new tab I open

is a dare to believe

something better

wants me back.

I write things I don’t mean

to people who will never read them.

“Dear Hiring Team,”

(please see me)

“I’m excited to apply…”

(for anything but here)

No one tells you

that job hunting

while still working

feels like cheating on a lover

you never wanted

but couldn’t afford to leave.

Some mornings,

I stand in the shower

longer than I should,

as if the water will tell me

who I am

when the uniform comes off.

And when my boss asks,

“Everything good?”

I nod.

Because what else do you do

with a truth too big

for small talk?

I save versions of myself

in drafts and spreadsheets.

Quiet. Capable. Marketable.

But none of them scream

like I want to.

Some nights, I dream

of being somewhere

where I don’t have to lie

for health insurance,

where ambition

isn’t a liability.

But I show up,

five minutes early,

name tag straight,

and say,

“Welcome in.”

Even when all I want

is to finally walk out.

For good.