She sat in her darkened kitchen on her old chair
reflecting on what went wrong?
why did she always feel so incredibly lonely?
and why did he walk around her house like a Lion?
when she knew she was the true Lion
and he was the pussy
she knew she\'d be noticed for her creative mind
even though he would drum it into her every day
that the fame was meant for him
she knew the truth, but she kept quiet
how must it feel to be so damn egotistic?
not to see talent in anything other than a mirror?
she was the talent
she was the real passion
the fire in the home
the fire in the pen
and the fire in her little black book of scribbles
that she kept safe and sound
under her mattress
and never could share with the world
despite her disappointment
and lack of enthusiasm for life
she still stirred the fresh soup
she made, every evening
and still, she shared it with him.