Poem: For the Artists

How can we be content
To fall between the cracks
And hide the precious under bowls
The world, the system, has crippled us GOD!
For food and money we lay our talents aside
To meerely exist
The dancer waits tables
The pianist does marketing
The writer sells insurance
What the hell is this?
Really...
How can we really display to the full extent
When weighed down by this forsaken state?