So when I'm not working on Taboo 2 or workin' my ass off, I've been workin' these up in my state of delirium. Just a whoooole lot of memories has surfaced while workin', and y'know what?
I ain't the only one who's been dealt an unfair hand in the land of blue-collar labor.
So I guess you can say I launched into more than a few of these pissed-off poems to get out, and my muse apparently approved of it.
So here's the first of 'em...hope ya like 'em all.
A couple of 'em are actually lyrical, spoken-word poetry, but you'll still get the point...
To give you guys warning ahead of time, I've apparently used the references of bikes, walking, buses, and cars in two of 'em. I'm just sayin'.
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The Glass Ceiling
What do you know of work?
Can you ever empathize with us on the ground level?
You up there, you executive types, you office types.
You look down at us during your lunch break, your coffee clutched within your manicured hands.
What do you know of work?
We walk. We ride the bus. We ride bicycles, sometimes used, most of them cheap, all of them breaking down.
You ride in nice cars. Mostly new, some gently used, all of them working.
I can type fast, and without error. I can file and answer the phone better than any of you.
So what's the difference? What is that defining line between you and me?
Is it truly nepotism? Is it that I don't know the right people, or have the right degree.
You make more than us, but we work harder. We're here for twelve hours, you're here for six with a paid hour lunch.
Our half-hour lunches are unpaid, taken out of our hourly wage.
I am more qualified than any of you up there, and there are others who are as well, yet you look down on me.
On us.
I'd like to think there's some obvious moment, an obvious truth.
Do you truly think you're better than me? Some of yours is down here too, working,
slaving
in the pit, here with me.
I have never risen to your level, yet there are so many of yours who have fallen to mine.
This isn't success. This isn't what I want.
I have the certifications. I have the qualifications.
But because of work history or looks, here is where I remain.
Watching as you watch us
Watching as you condescend to us
Watching as you enjoy us slaving away
And enjoying as I watch each and every last one of you fall.
I ain't the only one who's been dealt an unfair hand in the land of blue-collar labor.
So I guess you can say I launched into more than a few of these pissed-off poems to get out, and my muse apparently approved of it.
So here's the first of 'em...hope ya like 'em all.
A couple of 'em are actually lyrical, spoken-word poetry, but you'll still get the point...
To give you guys warning ahead of time, I've apparently used the references of bikes, walking, buses, and cars in two of 'em. I'm just sayin'.
------------------------------------------------------
The Glass Ceiling
What do you know of work?
Can you ever empathize with us on the ground level?
You up there, you executive types, you office types.
You look down at us during your lunch break, your coffee clutched within your manicured hands.
What do you know of work?
We walk. We ride the bus. We ride bicycles, sometimes used, most of them cheap, all of them breaking down.
You ride in nice cars. Mostly new, some gently used, all of them working.
I can type fast, and without error. I can file and answer the phone better than any of you.
So what's the difference? What is that defining line between you and me?
Is it truly nepotism? Is it that I don't know the right people, or have the right degree.
You make more than us, but we work harder. We're here for twelve hours, you're here for six with a paid hour lunch.
Our half-hour lunches are unpaid, taken out of our hourly wage.
I am more qualified than any of you up there, and there are others who are as well, yet you look down on me.
On us.
I'd like to think there's some obvious moment, an obvious truth.
Do you truly think you're better than me? Some of yours is down here too, working,
slaving
in the pit, here with me.
I have never risen to your level, yet there are so many of yours who have fallen to mine.
This isn't success. This isn't what I want.
I have the certifications. I have the qualifications.
But because of work history or looks, here is where I remain.
Watching as you watch us
Watching as you condescend to us
Watching as you enjoy us slaving away
And enjoying as I watch each and every last one of you fall.
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