Celebrity.
The formula begins simply enough:
bleach your hair to platinum perfection,
whiten your teeth - an iridescent shine;
collagen for your normal (what's normal?) sized lips and
surgery for that minor - repeat - minor bump on
your nose that makes all the difference.

Starve yourself to be judged so
unmercifully like cattle
waiting to be slaughtered; fatten up for
the starring role
(don't you want it?)
It all pays off in the end with the exalting
glory of the Oscar,
the spotlight glaring upon you,
you glamorous moviestar.
Assuming you posses the magical
token to elevate your meek status to
SUPER CELEBRITY -
Talent is an extra advantage on your quest,
somehow blurred beneath the
glossy pages in magazines.

Celebrity, fellow admirers,
is a state far above our own,
eternally, longingly perfect
(does it not seem so?) Then it is
shot down from the Hills in mindless
envy in the headlines of the Enquirer we
leaf through waiting impatiently at the
cashier. We cringe and laugh
inwardly (look who's so perfect now?)

Celebrity,
don't we all want to be?
Wouldn't we give everything to be
one of them?
Celebrity renews itself and
starts the cycle once again.