My family barely notices the hours that I type
They hardly get excited, much less exhibit hype.
They never make a purchase of anything I penned
It’s not like they don’t have money, because I see them spend.
Don’t they feel my talent? Don’t they sense my pain?
Don’t they know their acknowledgment is all I seek to gain?
Do they think I’ve struck it rich or hit the lottery?
Cause when I mention what I wrote, they want to read for free.
I’ll never make a million; of that I’m really sure,
But just one call from Oprah could certainly be a cure.
It shouldn’t be so difficult to hear a little praise?
Would it be so awful to help my spirits raise?
If sis and bro and mother dear and the children of my blood,
Don’t care enough to support me; my name is surely mud!
If they won’t pull out their wallets to buy my latest pub,
Then surely I'm not destined for Ms. Winfrey's great book club.