Poetic Plights

I want to be bronze, no you want to be gold.... I want to be gold.

Once upon a midsummers eve there was a mom who though her daughter was a trophy.

The trophy was overjoyed as a baby to get so much attention and love.

Anything the trophy did wasn't her decision, it was her moms.

Then the trophy got a mind of it's own.

The trophy became unperfect,

It went from a gold trophy to a silver one and finally to bronze.

But the trophys didn't care it was happy.

But the mom was not.

She tried to paint it gold again but there was no getting rid of the bronze underneath without the trophys help.

Yet the child still didn't care if she was gold or silver or bronze and she didn't know why the mom did or why the mom wasn't happy with her bronze.

The mom got madder and madder at the trophy and left marks on it, making it even less perfect.

The cycle went on

The mom left scars, the trophy was left perfect.

The mom degraded the trophy, the trophy started wanting to be gold.

Eventually the bronze trophy understood her mother and wanted to be gold more than anything in the world. She swore she would do anything to be gold again.

She covered herself with gold paint and never let anyone see the bronze.

Yet the painted gold trophy swore she would be content with a bronze trophy if she ever had the chance to raise one herself, if she lived to raise one herself.