my phone has over 50 texts.
a larger amount of missed phone calls.
its from various designers,
and baller wolves.
everyone wants something from me.
i’m happy to give it to them.
my days are spent:
i am behind the scenes of almost every event.
i’ve casted models for every music video.
the books ive written are best sellers.
i secretly work along side big names.
i’m the best kept secret in hollywood.
they call on me personally for assistance with their issues.
i’m a therapist,
and a life line all rolled into one.
i have no complaints.
i wanted this.
i wanted to be “independent”.
no more dealing with a dictator and army that followed.
its just me and my own rules.
that is happiness to me…
my life currently is the opposite of that.
i spent most of my day in bed today.
i got up to get some church,
but i wasn’t as enthusiastic as i usually am.
that means i have 24 short hours until i go back to that place.
the sweat shop.
where pieces of my soul dies.
i try to look at the good things.
well besides the pay check that keeps the roof over my head.
everything else is a complete wash.
i get up in the morning dreading the day ahead.
is that really happiness?
“well at least you have a job.”
i think that line is a crock of shit.
this is coming from people with jobs they love.
for a creative as myself,
i feel like i am in a torture chamber.
they don’t allow me to utilize my skills.
what is the point of going to a place for 8 hours,
slaving over paper work and dodging bitches,
when you aren’t feeling fulfilled?
a place where it feels like you are back in high school?
the meanies vs me.
what is the point of feeling sick to your stomach,
throwing up on occasion,
your hair falling out,
breaking out like crazy,
suffering from bouts of depression,
and being treated like dog shit just to say:
at least i have a job!”
is that happiness?
i can say without a doubt i am depressed.
i can’t believe i am actually excited with the thought of getting fired.
like who thinks of shit like that every hour of the day?
i was in pure hell when i was unemployed,
and now i’m in another side of pure hell being employed.
fire meet pan.
pan meet jamari fox.
jamari fox meet roast.
so i ask again,
as i have asked myself a million times since:
is this happiness?
i think i deserve a lot better.