I think that I am bad at my job,
And I should probably be fired.
I bet my colleagues think that too,
And wish I’d never been hired.
None of my work is up to scratch,
I can’t do anything properly.
The i’s aren’t dotted, the t’s aren’t crossed:
I do everything quite sloppily.
I can’t write, I can’t plan,
I can’t organise, I can’t budget,
I forget things that are on my list
And often have to fudge it.
I get to this sad state sometimes,
A hole of my own creation.
And often I stay there for a while
From the office until the tube station.
I pull myself out by thinking
Of the big things I have completed.
Some OK, some good, some applauded, in fact,
And I feel a little less defeated.
You are not the work you do,
You are not the task you forgot.
The Earth won’t stop spinning for this,
Although right now, it seems like a lot.
I know that my team like me,
I even make them laugh,
And if they thought of me like I do,
They wouldn’t have kept me as staff.
I tell myself that everyone
Has likely felt the same,
When they forget a deadline, or miss a step,
And that mistakes are just part of the game.
But tomorrow you can do better,
You can come back with a master plan!
(Or just a fresh pair of eyes, or more energy
And hope that shit doesn’t hit the fan).
Interested in writing fiction or poetry? Leiden is looking to publish fiction pieces from both emerging and established writers. Find out more in our submission guidelines.