I had a very frustrating experience today at work, and writing this poem was my way of dealing with it. I like to think something good came out of the experience.

She never gave me the chance
To change
To improve
Or even to listen
And my mind-reading skills
Have never been reliable
I know where I started
Was not what she wanted
Now I know
Now, after the letter
Why was she silent then?
Why did she expect me
To know her mind?
Or think just like her?
Doesn’t she know
You can’t get
What you want
They know
You want it?
It’s no wonder
I think
That she works
With dead people
They don’t require


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