My desk

Look—I love my job, don’t get it fucked up,

But professional don’t mean I shut up.

There’s a line between firm and abusive,

Cross it once and I’m done being patient and mute with it.

You raised your voice, I raised the mirror,

Now you crying foul like the truth wasn’t clearer.

You went low, I went factual,

No limbo, no grace period, no gradual.

You tried to play me small at my own damn desk,

Confuse control with who deserves respect.

You wanted silence, obedience, fear—

I gave you posture, receipts, and a tone you could hear.

Now you rewrite scenes, manipulate maps,

Pull audits, threaten jobs, talk behind backs.

Do your worst—

I said what I said.

Verbal abuse wasn’t in my job description, read it again.

I’m not paid to absorb your rage,

Not hired to be your emotional cage.

And last I checked—this is MY station,

Which means I call security, not negotiations.

But wait—

The patient.

The bedpan.

Funny how care disappears when ego steps in.

You bragged about credentials three times in a row,

But using them? Nah—you just wanted us to know.

Nobody cares what letters sit after your name

If the room’s still burning and you fueling the flame.

That didn’t help the patient.

Didn’t help the floor.

Didn’t help your mother you claimed you were fighting for.

Eyes smiling, body lying, energy off-key,

Shapeshift mid-sentence—don’t gaslight me.

“Tired.” “Stressed.” “Mad.” Cool story.

Mama still hurting while you perform authority.

So don’t accuse neglect when you came in loud,

Blocking the door like you needed a crowd.

If you got solutions, put them somewhere they fit—

Suggestion box? Yeah, we don’t have shit.

Budget cuts.

Go call your CNO friend.

I handled my role start to finish, no bend.

You tried to fuck me over—I came out cleaner.

Sharper boundaries, calmer demeanor.

I didn’t crack. I didn’t beg.

I stood ten toes and checked your thread.

You wanted power—I wanted peace.

You broke that first, so I released the beast.

Now I’m clocked in calm, clocked out untouchable,

Same badge, same desk, just less negotiable.

Hermit mode, lantern lit, eyes wide open,

I retreat, reset, then re-enter focused.

Social, then solitude, death card flip—

I shed what you tried to stick.

So play victim.

Rewrite the day.

I’ve already survived worse games you play.

I’m still here.

Still trusted.

Still solid.

And you’re still loud with nothing to show for it.