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my boss asked me
to have a coffee chat
with the new girl.

talked about goals,
progression,
settling in —
it was the kind
that made me proud
for having
such a great team.

two hours later,
she quit.
this one is about a one-on-one i thought went really well.
If this is you hold on Your Change is coming


WELCOME TO HELL,
the PLACE of DISCOMFORT,
If you are WORKING
in this ENVIRONMENT,
yeah, you will soon discover.
a place that you hate, and
you really don't want to be,
you would rather be at home,
you would rather flee, and leave.
you are not there to make friends, and
some of them you're not cool,
just working in the environment,
of nothing but pure fools.
their personalities, you have to deal,
some of them you wish would chill,
you want to leave so badly, but
you got to consider paying your bills,
you got bills to pay, mouths to feed,
money is funny, and
the mean green you need,
your job is so MISERABLE,
It is just so UNBELIEVABLE,
This place is so PITIFUL,
you are feeling so INVISIBLE,
it has gotten so bad,
It's got you TURNING HYSTERICAL,
you are so IRRITABLE,
your position is UNBEARABLE,
If you could find a better career,
IT WOULD BE A TREMENDOUS MIRACLE!!!!!
The DEVIL IS YOUR BOSS,
HIS IMPS ARE THE EMPLOYEES,
Just leaving this job behind,
Will give you pure joy, and
to do something that you Love, or
a career you will enjoy,
It would be a BIG CHANGE,
just you wait and see, then
within yourself you will say:
THANK GOD I AM
FINALLY FREE!!!


B.R.
Date: 9/24/2024
If this is you hold on Your Change is coming
vik Sep 13
“oh, how they will all bet on morrows that strain rills after dark,
and yet the Game, unpitying, regains its lordly behest at dawn;

lean back and feel the turn of things, the chance, the risk, the almost...
ante!”



this mania!
when it wreathes,
the imperceptible of myself,
it drains through me, sedulously,
hands aquiver, sight fretful,
and the bath of wanting (and not, ergo),
spewing and fusing
inside the etna of my inlying.

you are, then, obedience itself,
long before the grapevine,
before the Cards;
rails tarnishing, yet begrimed steel,
rather ossein, or thew,
turning to a suttee so pale, it forgets its ills.

and the trains;
yes, they were gushing, though not afore;
“did you think they would arrive for you?”
they smelt into clag,
into a mist of faces, barren,
swelling and shrieking of throe,
snaking, snaking down the spine of
the Stake.

slaves betting with their ilk of ardor,
when a match struck, belatedly,
but already it is leaning toward cinders,
its shine no more
than a laugh of people,
leaving the hall shivery in its bleat,
charcoals sighing their waning,
others honing their exit.
bitterly, bitterly, i am
left with nothing to hold but smoke.

but time, ah, time,
the nimble Host,
old trickster with his cuffs of lithe,
shuffling cloaks for loose change.
he and i,
always at the same table,
and i know his favorite sleight:
to grant the boastful player
a losing hand,
and winning eyes.

the coin is tossed,
to the Parlay; so soon cast,
so soon swallowed by the piker.
the crowd, they clap for a name,
but it is never genius they are crowning,
only luck,
foremost Dealer,
with that last word,
smiling as he lays it down:
only the blind Card turned upward.

~~~

and i,
sitting with my empty cup,
still growing a taste for losing
foolish, surely,
but the loss only deepens the greed,
doubles it, whets it past the reach of will.

so ring then, coin,
dull as you are, tattered,
clattering against the floorboards.
it tells me i am counted,
measured,
already spent.
yes, yes, it is only a caprice,
but it hews, it digs,
it laughs where no mouths are,
and i laugh back;
ante!
🎰
they told you no.
they meant never.

they tried to carve
a life without passion—
because passion is poverty,
and you deserved better.

just wait, little one.
the world will carry
your name on its tongue.
the dream they stole,
quiet as a matchstick,
burned through a decade.

today
you’ll strike it—

and the whole sky
will burst into flames.
this one is for my thirteen-year-old self, who wanted to be a graphic designer, but my parents thought… computers are for men, i should be a doctor. i became neither. but i did just finish the cover design for my book.
Sometimes thoughts blanket the mind,
Sometimes stress smothers creativity,
Sometimes career collides with health,
Sometimes life forgets to live.
Don't know what to write , sometimes I wonder only death could provide me peace
girlinflames Aug 11
I didn’t know
that quitting my job
to follow my dreams
would shake me
this much
Dreams
The worst part...
Waking up to achieve it.

The best part
Waking up to achieve it.

If the hardest part is waking up?
I'd sacrifice my sleep.

To be with you forever
Or to achieve you.
If my dreams are valid, having you is...
CJ Sutherland May 27
Time to have some fun
12 years of school now done
Snooze you lose, time choose
Workforce calls each must decide
Slave to job paycheck career



Tanka
A form of Haiku
Differs in structure
31 syllables
Five lines
Syllable count
5-7-5-7-7



BLT Websters word of the day challenge
May 26 2025
Commemorate
Something such as a plaque, statue, or parade is said to commemorate an event, person, etc.
When it serves as a memorial; it exist or is done in order to recall the event or person. A person or group commemorate an event, person by doing something special in order to remember and honor the event or person.


Footnotes
Graduation ceremonies commemorate the moment when child becomes an adult. Two show they had graduated by the school standards. It should represent a competency to college and job placement and training. If college is an ecological step, your diploma is your ticket. To get into college. Representing 12 years of knowledge.

(Ok perhaps I’m jaded)
Welcome to the rat race
I would not want to be young today
Nobody wants to work
They want everything for free
Moral values are gone
After 12 years of school,
what skills do they have
United States have children
who graduate
without knowing how to read
As a nation
Our test scores are shameful
Piyush Apr 21
Sometimes,
I wake up to the sound of shattering
Dreams—not anyone's but mine,
And I don't even know why?
It's 3AM now,
And I can't sleep,
Why is it so tough to just breathe?

To breathe for an hour,
And I want that shine,
Even if it isn't mine,
Yet I can't reach.

It's not like I don't want to,
It's more like I can't do,
My skills, capabilities are weak,
Or you could also say that,
I'm weak.

The days feel heavy,
And the process is hard,
To maintain week by week,
Still I want to reach.

But to reach,
I need to breathe,
Not just for an hour,
But for a forever.

And sometimes,
This is the reality,
In which you have to breathe,
Not for a day,
Not for a week,
But for the homies,
Still, I want it to be—
a dream...
A shattering dream.
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