Alice Through The Looking Glass

I had it all until everything fell down the rabbit hole. 

I had the pats on the head and the applause worth every disturbed days. I lie at night tucked in by their validations and wake-up at dawn thinking how can I make it last. How can I retain his delight? How can I make her keep looking at me? How can I be the center of their envy and the object of their expectations? 

I thought I had it all figured out until everything fell down the rabbit hole. 

At the ripe age of nine, I established and fully-furnished the statue of my academic triumph, a thing most people do in the edge of their collegiate path. I was picking up bricks and painting the skies in colors they want to see, as a kid who's not even tall enough to reach her own shelves. I used the most resistant cement I could find to build their residence in warmth. To make them feel comfort. Relief. Solace in the thought of me, not walking astray. 

I painted the greatest picture inside the auditorium until it slipped away from my hands down the rabbit hole. 

Three thousand days of playing the instrument in favor of their entertainment, only to see there's a new theater artist singing on the podium. It's the same old lullaby I've been using. The applause and great voices of cheers are now not mine to embrace. I'm a hoarse performer, a little too exhausted to shapeshift and mend the wooden roof. I'm a fallen mirrorball, worn out to reflect my own light in thy faces. I'm a hypocritical plaster saint who showers children in compliments but staring at the ceiling in silent frustration, wondering how did I go from growing up the way they want, to turning out the way they least expected me to be? 

I am now the burn-out backburner watching through the looking glass since everything fell down the rabbit hole.