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Frustrated to the core at my status in life,
I’m somewhere in between
a low class whore and a beauty queen;
not budging; begrudging this drudgery
Washing dishes ‘til my nails crack;
mopping ‘til my back’s a wreck;
waiting for my smile to break;
my tears leave messy make-up tracks.
Pushing on and on and on and ON!
Can I pretend I’m someone famous?
Or something more than just a waitress?
Is all my life just preordained?
Or maybe… I’m the one to blame.
Oh, I’ve messed it up,
Those wasted days;
Years gone by in a blurry haze.
I “have potential” (what a joke)
And I gag on it until I choke.
“We had high hopes for her career,”
blah blah blah BLAH in my ear.
What a disappointment I must be.
They look at me remembering.
Seeing what I used to be,
Their memories a cage for me.
God! there’s so much out there I want to do!
A world to see!
The people I could meet!
So many hats that I could wear,
So much life; the rich and creamy icing!
The books, the brains, the beauty!
Incredible and terrible; almost, barely palpable;
The Mother Teresas of the world,
With the Hannibal Lecter’s in the swirl.
The poets and cowboys and radio hosts,
The dancers, the swingers, the roasts and the toasts,
the fruit and the meat,
all waiting for ME!
Still… I’m frozen and scared,
a ballerina too tall;
awkward, ungainly, and I constantly fall.
Frustrated to the core at my status in life;
and still I linger on,
somewhere in between,
a ten dollar whore and a beauty queen.