Aspiring Fire Starter

I’m a fire putter outer
who wants to be an arsonist when I grow up
I battle which title suites me best everyday

I’m a fire fighter corporately
receiving a pay check for
saving the CEO and VP’s from moving into middle class homes
by ignoring the elimination of moral attributes that’ll make their stock options burn
like truth

I withstand third degree damage to the passions etched in my soul
by making sure the company’s money don’t go up in smoke
 continuously extinguishing the dissatisfaction for my career with fear
that if my company implodes my cash flow will become smithereens
causing the security of my household to go up in flames
or the illusion of security

For its foundation was built from inherited intentions to possess joy
a faulty replicated blue print to the American Dream
that was sketched out all wrong
 impersonal to me
and I’m strategically trying to tear it down
by swapping out my unsupported vision for myself
with my family’s nutty ass generational tradition
to always work for someone else

That mentally is rusted

But for nearly 30 years it was engrained in me
I’m still suffering the consequences of swallowing poisonous verbal elixirs
that dictated beliefs that there are long term benefits
to debt for a college degree
a piece of paper that labels me as intellectually trainable
to successfully complete the university’s guideline
on the Corporate America way of thinking

The poison still flows through my veins
making my aspirations for myself seem like manic breakdowns
I’m counseled by parental pep talks given in masked upbeat tones
attempting to give a lecture the power of a speech
by placing conviction on the wrong side of the scale of what ifs

I’m a lecture learner 
who followed the instructions of my primary teachers the creator assigned to me
giving self diagnoses to thoughts of me being great as psychotic episodes
Repetitious word play trained me to take misguided steps
on a path cleared for me
before I even took my first breath

My profession is suffocating me
and on some catch 22 shit,
it’s my life line
it supports me
chokingly
I’m barely able to inhale positive possibility

Firefighters know how to breathe with limited air
so I mechanically go through the required daily motions
to make sure my family survives
and financially fuel the glow in my son’s eyes
for he wants to have a greater impact than a star
so he makes 3 wishes while gazing at the moon
and I refuse to correct him
he deserves more than to humbly belief in himself

I want to raise his internal fire so that traces of self doubt will be incinerated
into disposable ashes that can easily be brushed off his shoulders
But in order to breathe life into him,
keep the fire blazing within him
I need my air back

The size of my paycheck  doesn’t negate the fact that oxygen is free
but 40 hours of smothered creativity leaves me with less accelerant
and takes me away from my use of tools to ignite personalized dreams
A pen and a pad accompanied by lungs full of air
exhaling reassurance that being who we truly desire to be is obtainable

I want to be an arsonist that assists in the rekindling of uncaptured dreams
but first I have to promote myself to a higher level of spiritually and self belief
When I grow to that level, I’ll turn in my current worn out badge for one that reads
Fire starter

I’m the propellant behind the dangerous duo consisting of my son and I
Take cover-
we about to blow shit up!

©2011 Tenisha M Jones

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