Her crayons are sprawled out
Across the steakhouse’s table,
Drawing the star they want her
To be. The mood lighting casts shadows;
Their wrinkled, withered faces dampen her eyes.
“Can I show mommy my drawing?”
“…”
“Do you guys like it?”
“…”
She stops trying, they munch on flesh
A cash cow is more tender than most.
She’s hungry, and gets nothing,
Told to smell the sweetness of an apple
And spend the rest of her life chasing its taste;
Never achieved, they empty her of her dreams
Replaced by frauds.
Then the check finally comes, but at what cost?