Belle of the Ball That Never Was

If I had done it all differently,
I wouldn't be here, concocting for you,
My elegant readers.
I would have been ruined,
Trammeled and tarnished by
Those slick gladhandlers, the market-savvy
Midwives of b*****d artistry.
My labors would have been riddled with
The vilest of defects:
Conventional beauty.
Mass-produced and mass-approved
Non-nutritious prettycakes,
Peaked with mountains of molded cream,
Artificially sweetened,
Issue of step-by-step instruction,
Refined to culinary perfection,
They'd fulfill expectations but
Starve the diners.
Instead, I pursued my own confections,
Invented cuisines that buck the trends,
Whipped up dishes to suit my own palate
And maybe yours.
Monotonous diets bloat the belly,
Tar the tongue, inhibit digestion;
Mindless conformity dulls the ear,
Fuddles the music, drowses dancers.
Though I may die farandoling alone
In a ballroom devoid of company,
My fancies will romp to the grave with me.