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What’s your dream job?

What if I say

my dream job is simple,

to belong to a community

where I can give tenfold

for every small thing

they offer me.

Smile.

Yes, I said it.

Love is the real work,

even when the heart

costs too much to repair.

Maybe we do not need repair at all.

Maybe we only need

a repairing job.

So what could it be?

Perhaps I could fix

the engine of my mind

and redesign the interior of my heart,

so my thoughts could race freely

at three hundred and thirty miles an hour.

A ride like that

might make me proud

or carry me

to the other side of myself.

What if my dream job

is simply to kill mosquitoes with rackets?

I could fight in the malaria campaign,

a small hero with a plastic bat.

Or guard the house

from arrogant flies.

Even small battles

can save big lives.

My dream job

should be a place

where kind and compassionate souls gather,

where people guide me

through their open windows of wisdom.

I would measure the height,

put on my jumpsuit,

and learn how to leap.

I dream of flying.

So why not a job

that lets me speak with birds,

circling the sky beside them,

trading secrets with the clouds?

What gentle wizardry must I learn

to transform myself

into hills and mountains,

rivers and trees?

I want to float

in a place

where the body becomes a hollow tube

and I exist only as thought

and memory.

I want a dream job

that keeps me fit,

healthy, and strong.

People say,

join a gym,

be a trainer.

Others say,

you need muscles for politics.

So I imagine

pasting muscles on my body

like stickers.

But fake muscles

and fake promises

never make a cake softer.

My dream job

is to be the cherry

on top of the cake,

catching every eye,

sweetening every tongue.

Or maybe

I can be the cake itself,

arriving in every home,

living inside celebrations,

inside laughter and tears,

inside memories that never fade.

Yes, celebrate this moment.

My wizard power returns.

I transform myself

into a cake.

Some feelings

do not need to be baked.

My emotions

are not fake.

Something taps on my mind.

It is six o’clock, my friend.

Time to wake.