My life is horrible,
my days a bore.
Sitting in this office
from 8 to 4.
Nothing ever happens,
my life is pretty bland.
Pretending that i'm working
so i dont get canned.
My Cubicle.
My Cubicle.
Its one of 62,
Its my small space,
in a crowded place.
Just a 6 by 6 board room,
and i hate it thats the truth.
And i give a sign,
as the boss walks by.
No one ever talks to me,
or looks me in the eye.
My Cubicle.
My Cubicle!
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5 comments:
HA HA HA!!
Daisy - You need to let people know that this is not your poem and that someone else wrote it. It's called proper citation. Giving credit where credit is due. And if you don't know who wrote it, you shouldn't publish it until you find out. Just some tips on how to be a good and honest writer.
okay peoples- this italian guy with a guitar wrote it. NO MORE INFO
ohh you put your dad doing ballet but he did'nt know! ohhhhhhhhh!!!!!
hey! watch what youre saying! Dad- did you know i put you on my blog?
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