What's your Nett Worth?

I slipped two mouthfuls of my favorite highball, cursing—

didn’t think opening a fresh account,

could feel so close to guilt,

like I am committing a crime.

Or I look like I would and I could.

Fluorescent lights,

polite questions with sharp edges:

your nett worth? your salary?

why here, not there?

as if my choices needed defending

in a room that smelled faintly of paper and proof.

I nodded where I had to,

swallowed the burn with the whiskey,

told them I just didn’t want my life

stacked neatly in one place—

is that so wrong,

to scatter your weight across a few quiet corners,

to keep something of yourself

unmeasured, unjudged?

Still, I walked out feeling smaller,

like I’d confessed to something I never did.

I’ll fight from here on,

until I make it again.

Till then,

I keep going.

For now,

I cursed hard,

F* you.

There is no justice in reality, there is only game. A dreadful unjust game. – The Devil Judge