Tamara

There’s two women, one with a sleeveless pink turtle neck,

One that’s blonde, grumpy, and old, wearing a tacky purple hat, indoors,

There’s also a girl, who wore a bright blue bedazzled dress that reached the carpeting

With fake hair, wearing fake nails and overdone makeup, she was polished with perfection

Her lipstick read, “I’m ready” while her facial expression looked lost

Although, she spun, twirled and watched the earth spin in circles,

Forgetting what atmosphere she was in

Forgetting she had to act grown up

“Head up! Butt out, chest out! Smile! And don’t mess up!”

Where only the few words the old lady would repeat to her

Can she handle the pressure?

The smell of hot glue and spilled nail polish itched the girls’ nose

She remained content; she was used to all of this

Used to getting yelled at, used to everyone getting angry at everything she’s ever done

Is this the life a normal six year old should be living?

Waiting, waiting and waiting for her turn, minutes turning into hours, hours turning into more, waiting

Her stomach started to rumble

Thinking maybe the other lady on her left would hand her some of what she’s preparing

Casually walking over, the girl asks politely, “may I please…”

Interruptedly, the woman with fire in her eyes, gives the girl a slap on the hand

“you have to keep your figure, don’tcha?”

The panel of judges would ultimately possess the fate of this girl

A beam of light casted across the walls of the house

Was this a sign of hope?

Or was it just a room that forevermore reached darkness

With old, rusty blinds, that never seems to shut correctly

Hours later, the results were in

Families letting out a silent cry, including the girls

A red stingy outline of a handprint would be left on her right cheek soon

A single teardrop fell from her face, then two, three, four, five; soon she was drowning in her own sorrow

Was this caused by losing?

Or the fact that the girl’s mom is reliving her childhood dream through her?