I wonder what it’s like
To be as important
As pretty girls’ feelings or
The poetry of dead men.

Maybe if
I was the tear on the cheek of a
Prom Queen
Or the
Long lost manuscript of some
Prolific writer
The ink on this paper would
Be worth more than the
Person who
Put it there.

Maybe it’s not all that unlikely that a
Girl wearing a dress shaped like
A cake
Is weighted on a
Different scale than those
Who actually eat it,

Or that the words of a man
Are lauded with unflinching praise
Only because he
Has nothing left to say.

But, what if I was?
That important I mean.

Would I feel validated?
Or would my
Sudden relevance only
Expose the flaws 
Hidden so welll by
Insignificance. 

To be supported by the very people
Who would just as quickly
Suppress you
I suppose that is what 

it means 

to be important.