Have you ever felt,
As if your about to melt?
Not from love,
but from being sick of,
being ignored.

You ask your mother,
To listen to your latest poem,
but she says to go ask another.

You leave the room,
Feeling as if your everyone's doom.
You sit back on your bed,
Thoughts floating around your empty head.

You feel left out,
As you gaze out the window.
Knowing their is many like you,
The gift to pull fresh poems out of thin air,
It just isn't fair.
So maybe,
Just maybe,
You will go read your poems to an infant baby.