Most tools can become hammers when faced with a nail 

But people are not tools, when treated thus they ail 

Tasked to do what doesn’t suit me, I often fail 

Hence why I seek means to walk on my proper trail.  

Intimately, I know 

Being unable to say no 

To functions that frustrate or bring me woe

To work to which I have to force myself to go.

People all crave to do that which they were meant for. 

Wrong occupations make labour a chore 

Fulfillment lacking, one is poor 

Forever seeking more. 

I can sense how feels a rusty hinge when it’s moved 

Or what knows a stiff-bound book opened and perused 

Proper employment leaves a thing feeling enthused

There’s joy in the exercise of being well-used.