Cap Table Prayer

I want the trophy before the try,

the raise before revenue,

the bio before the book.

I staple bravado to a slide;

call it birthright;

run a tab on applause.

Then the room asks, deadpan:

What did you make, mate?

Silence, shaved and wearing “strategy.”

Customers weigh me, not my adjectives.

The market’s a bouncer with a clipboard.

Ship or shut up.

Vesting is gravity.

Value is what survives the demo.

F.S.F.