She was carefree, she was fun,
she wore her beauty like the sun.
She was flashy, she wasn’t lame,
drawing boys around her was a game.
She was the first pick at dances,
other girls sighed over missed chances.
And those at home in their jammies,
waited eagerly to hear her stories.
She sat in court, chose her friends,
did no work but stayed on top of trends.
She knew no responsibilities except the one,
to be social as a butterfly, to bring on the fun.
Others wove Cinderella fantasies in their dreams,
her parents lay twisted on her outspread palms.
They sighed and cried with private fears,
as she danced the night away, with a couple of beers.
But the years aren’t kind, she was to find,
to those who neither toil nor spin nor mind.
As the rest celebrated with honors bestowed,
The girl looked around the empty room, disowned.
In the stillness, a baby’s cry shattered her thoughts,
another child called out, both with parched throats.
The girl–her laughter stilled, bitter and envious,
got up with calm sureness but heart still riotous.
There was still some fire left in her, just a bit,
so she drew out the one good dress that fit.
Put it on, eyes lifted from sallow skin on tired body,
painted colors on her face, lips red and pouty.
She’ll find someone and paint the town crimson tonight,
she’ll skip and dance like a bird in persistent flight.
Entertain the crowd like the fools on the screen,
laugh louder than the rest, forget what might have been.
But no one was around, her table silent in disrepute,
she hid her wrathful eyes, calculating yet strangely mute.
Rejecting all thoughts of making things right,
she knows she’ll stay and wait, no, she won’t ever call it a night.