wind flutters a leaf,
moth eaten in nice patterns;
dignity hides pain!
I know I have sold my soul to these corporate gods
And they own all the content in my head.
I should be a good girl and let it go
When other mortals claim my thoughts instead.

But here’s the thing....

Idea struck I’ll make a grand proposal
Or write some forward thinking code myself.
Be complimented for my Dionysian passion but
They deem it impossible and place it on a shelf.

Discouraged I’ll admit defeat
Even while it burns like a Promethean flame.
Then years down the road I’ll discover
My work rewarded under a naysayers name!

But wait a sec, before we get all self-righteous, girly - let's be totally honest.  

Yeah, you might have predicted a couple things years before they took off - and nobody believed that they could ever work.  Yeah, some guy took your dead code and put it in another product and that product ended up taking off.  Yeah - nobody gave you any credit for thinking of any of it first or for giving them the original idea.  But - dude - clearly you didn't want to own or drive these ideas anyway, you didn't keep trying when someone shot you down the first time you brought any of them up.  You just enjoy sprinkling pixie dust ideas around and then get offended when nobody remembers where they came from.

And let's get real -  cookies are for closers, princess.  Cassandra's a loser who didn't try hard enough to sell her ideas too and it drove her freaking insane.  Is that who you want to be?  Try again.

It's probably partly (or all?) my fault
Shameless self promotion is my Achilles heel
And once the ideas are dismissed as crazy
My confidence to own them loses all appeal.
Rather than courting madness in lack of praise
That I wish to call on Zeus and all his might
I should take five steps back and look again ..
Isn't it still pretty cool to know that I'd been right?

Can't it be pretty great to have inspired epics -
And made suggestions that will influence history?
Can't it be enough to know my contributions mattered?
Forget Cassandra - I'll be Calliope!

But if you can't get over your pride
Remember you have one wild card -
Next time you have that great idea -
Just patent it - or create some prior art!

Also - please stop comparing yourself to tragic Greek princesses and muses, it is pretentious.
The soothsayer knows me too well :)  

I do have this inner conflict though with wanting credit and praise for things when I only mentioned them but didn't actually push them through.  Need to work on confidence in the face of adversity I suppose, or settle to just give my ideas away for free for the greater good without getting bitter about not getting credit.  Working on it! :)
Coffee –morning,
afternoon, and nighttime shots –
keeps me breathing,
and saves me from harmful thoughts.

I grew up with parents
addicted to the taste,
and a sister, who brought it home as a present
as if it held everything together like paste.

I heard through blue bedroom plaster
the cries of teenage rebellion,
and the yells of parents in disaster
from the back-talk of the hellion.

Coffee stopped coming home every night.
She brought it to a different family.
How I wished our home would reunite,
but we never regained our sanity.

Now I am intoxicated every day
with the milk-and-sugar infused
mixture. It turns the dull gray
of my eyes to look brown and enthused.

Each sip is rich in bitterness
and poor in flavor.
Yet it infects me like an illness
and saves me from the razor.

Sip some coffee
smile, don’t cry.  
Sip some coffee
the blood will dry.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
danny Feb 5
I have hung up my relationship cap,
Muddled down with nonsense and all of your crap.

You say I went left but I was always right,
I just gave you the flowers so you couldn't pick a fight.

I was braver than I thought when I walked out the door.
Didn't really care that I littered the floor.

With fragments of photos and memories together.
You did him in our bed, who knew you were into leather!

I changed all the passwords, ate all the food.
Logged into your accounts and deleted all  your nudes.

Took the dog, Netflix account and the goldfish too.
Broke your Nicki Minaj Cd's but kept EryKah Badu.

I salted your garden, pissed in your pool.
I that angry so I broke every house rule.

I don't care about dignity, I may be alone,
But I am petty as F$@k and made you read this poem.
Willow shade Feb 1
Do you remember that day
when I gave you a candy
made of deep senses of mine?
You were glad like a child
and I also felt blessed.

Then I came with sweeties
with strong cognac inside,
you felt dizzy for a while,
then suddenly brushed aside.
Thus, I was deeply distressed.

You said - 'no more sweeties!
I have no heart to digest.
They are too bitter for me
and are full of poisons
so, my feelings they molest'.

They were in fact medicines
prepared from the pains.
Needed to add them your love,
but you gave them back to me
just for their bitter taste.
Lunatica Jan 30
It is better to be bitter

Because sweet might sting

Sooner or later.

I do like sweet things but they eventually turn into sourness or you get sick of it.
beth Jan 28
"I love you," you tell Her,
in a voice far too strong for it to be any kind of confession;
practised and perfected, spat out on your command.
"I love you," you say again,
and it doesn't sound like love.
It never has.

You keep lists of Her every mannerism, of the two of you's every exchange.
They fill the gaps of your I-Love-Yous, solidify the foundation,
so you can trick yourself into believing there's something strong there.

You use them to fill-in-the-blanks on other love poems.
Poems written for other girls and other boys,
poured from the heart of another lover.

You scream love to the world
because you are so desperate to convince that your love is not hollow.
The world listens.
And yet, She is unphased by your emptiness.
Middling heart, stale brain, and predictable love.

You're the only one falling (for it).
fuck you and your plagiarism - (10/01/18 - 00:02)
katelynn beth Jan 22
coffee as bitter
as i was taught to be
Angela Rose Jan 20
When you tell me that you love me
Do you really mean you love that I am so reckless and lacking of compassion

When you tell me that you love me
Is it really you saying that you love how long I let you keep your hands wrapped around my throat when we are tossing around in my sheets at 3 AM

When you tell me that you love me
Do you really mean you love that I am so cold and so bitter and so devoid of feeling for anyone other than my own, selfish self?

When you tell me that you love me
Is it really you lying and saying you love me just because you know I could never love you back?
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