Wasted Woman

Increasingly feeling invisible

Banging on doors that remain closed

Battling rejection

Frustrated and borderline morose

Emails and voicemails

That get no response

Wasted efforts

Over years, not just months

Money ‘invested’

Seemingly poured down the drain

Hours spent labouring

Was it really all in vain?

What does one have to do?

To achieve that lucky break?

In the face of such fierce competition?

What the actual f**k does it take?

Is it my sex or my age?

Is it a sign of the times?

Will I ever get paid?

For formulating rhymes?

Will I ever get hired?

To tread again those wooden boards?

Will I ever again be admired?

By someone seeking more than a whore?

Should I have a mid-life crisis?

Delude myself I’m 20 once more?

Wear tiny skirts, platform stilettos

Pour myself into a size 4?

It used to be easy

To magic up a job

To realise an ambition

Opportunities abounded in love

Anything was possible

Gambles nearly always paid off

Now I can’t get a number on the lottery

Let alone five and the bonus ball!

I’m trying so hard

I really bloody am

But I keep hitting walls

Something is jammed

Being 40 odd and female

Is a tricky state to be in

Having neither wed nor bred

And no longer being young and thin

Is it time to chuck in the towel?

Wear tweed and a violet rinse?

For what I’ve got isn’t what it takes

Thought admitting it makes me wince

Should all of us artistic women

Who just can’t earn a crust

In the industry we love

Give up and gather dust?

Should we sulk in a corner?

With bitter, withering souls?

Because we never quite made it

And achieved our goals?

No we shouldn’t

We should soldier on!

Do it the hell anyways

Because it’s what we love!

We suffer for our art

And art imitates life

And life is tough at times

But at least we’re living, right?

And the story isn’t over

There are many chapters to be wrote

And while there’s breath in your body

There’s an element of hope

So don’t give up,

Whether spinsters or sopranos!

We all are potential winners

One day we shall own milanos!

Even if it’s in our dreams

For without dreams we shrivel and die

So fight on to the death

Even If it means that we die trying!

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