My parents took me to an art museum 

Pulling me down white corridors,

Greeting me with a sculpture,

Its blank white face staring back.  

I observed its composition,

It’s chizzeld structure so uniform yet so bare,

I’ve seen this face a million times

Yet it still hit me with a scare. 

I dodged my eyes to see what else I could find,

Adventure, happiness, something more 

I fixated on a painting framed in gold, it was perfect, it was mine.

“What a beautiful creation,” I whispered as their eyes studied my intricate dream

They glared at my masterpiece in concern, crying, ready to scream.

“This painting doesn’t seem very happy,” they exclaimed with uttermost concern

No neighborhood, 

No success, 

Not enough money I will earn.