My watch died. 

Heavy on my wrist, it 
kind of… hangs instead of
rests. Like a timeless 
noose. The vibrations 
of my phone are too quiet to hear; 
the notification noise too loud
in the office where the only sound–
tip tap typing. 
 
I have an empty schedule. 
Caseload still in single 
digits. I’m still unsure 
if I am even qualified for 
this title. This responsibility
weighs heavy on my shoulders.
Am I in a place to do more good 
than harm, when all I do is 
harm to myself. Cutting my 
fingers off when I can’t count
on them. Shaking my head
off my neck when the 
screaming doesn’t stop.
 
So far I make a lot of powerpoints– 
I will be be good if ever asked
to teach the manual. I have 
something to follow along to. 
They are engraved 
on the inside of my eyelids. 
They are a pop up window 
over the doubt & imposter syndrome. 
 
I should be reading– be productive 
in my personal life on company time. 
You know what they say, boss makes a 
dollar, i make a dime… instead 
I review the conversations once had
in a not so distant past, when I wish
I could have known the answers
to the questions she didn’t even ask. Do 
you even know what you’re doing? 
 
Instead I say “I don’t 
know” when actually asked where 
do you want to be in five years.
Because truthfully, I hope
to have something else 
engraved on my eyelids–
like his laughter & soft purrs. 
Maybe a softer world can exist 
when I open them. 
 
Canva is my best friend, but 
all my best friends die. So I won’t 
buy stock in the company–if you 
are even able to. I don’t open my Robinhood 
as much as I should (ever). So maybe 
I am rich enough to get out of this neverending 
magnifying glass that is my mind. Just buy a 
transplant & hope my soul 
stays.